


Spoils of War

by Everyday_Im_Preaching



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Dimension, Alternate Universe, Death, Dubious Consent, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Not that scary, Nudity, Partial Nudity, Psychological Horror, Ritual Sacrifce, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Warlord!Chase, forced drugging, horror themes, nonconsenual touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Preaching/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Preaching
Summary: Gifts are meant to be special, and unique--they're supposed to inspire a sense of magic--not actuallybemagic.After a particularly rough bout of depression, Jack has lost all track of time. That is, until his great-uncle, Ambrose, calls him the morning before his birthday with an invite to dinner and the promise of a gift arriving at his apartment later that day. Shaken back to reality, Jack agrees to meet for dinner.Unfortunately, he never makes it.





	1. The Oven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there guys! Look what I have for you!  
> A brand new chack fic! I wrote the first chapter to this instead of updating Penultimate, woops.  
> If you enjoy this, and would like to see more of this fic, please leave a comment to let me know! I love hearing from you!

 

Jack shuffled into the kitchen like a zombie, one hand fiddling with his phone whilst the other played mindlessly with the strings of his pants. He looked nothing short of beaten, with bruises sporting under his eyes and the aches from yesterday setting in; Wu were activating daily now, as if they had been waiting for him to move out of his parents place and into his own before unleashing hell. 

On top of that, there were the  _ nightmares  _ that the Wu, over the years, had inspired. Endless dreams of being beat to death and horrifying monsters plagued his nights. Normally, he’d have shaken off the nightmare quickly—no matter how bad it’d gotten before, no matter how many times he’d woken up to his own screams—he’d always gone after the Wu. 

But not today. 

“Today is a new day for Jack.” Jack announced as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn’t going to chase Wu. He wasn’t going to give the monks, or Chase, or  _ Wuya  _ the satisfaction of seeing him repeatedly beaten down like a dog. Not anymore. He was turning over a new leaf—no more physical violence or showdowns over magical items. Jack was going to take over the world the old-fashioned way. With  _ money.  _

Just as Jack was about to take a drink of his celebratory, early-morning coffee, his phone rang. It vibrated against the counter, teasingly inching its way toward the edge—Jack snatched it up before it could make it halfway, glaring at the screen.

The number was private, which meant it was safe to say it was one of his relatives. With an irritated sigh, Jack answered it. “Hello?”

“Oh, hello.”  _ Ambrose.  _ “Hello, pumpkin. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to answer, with it being so early and all.” There was the quiet beep in the background of a microwave, and Jack furrowed his brow.

Ambrose was his great-uncle; the man rarely called, well,  _ anyone.  _ He was typically so reclusive that, in between bouts of contact, the rest of the family had a running pool on whether or not he was still alive. 

“Why’d you call me if you didn’t want me to pick up?” Jack asked groggily. 

Ambrose hummed quietly before answering. “Tension, I suppose. There’s nothing like waking up to an odd voicemail from your great uncle. Alas, the world never works out in our favour, does it love?” 

Jack really didn’t know what to say, opting to stay silent. 

Ambrose cleared his throat. “I just wanted you to know that I sent a package—a present—to your apartment.”

“Oh, uh. Why?” Jack straightened slightly, looking at the front door. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love presents, I really am grateful. But it’s kind of suspicious to just get a present out of the blue.”  
“It’s not out of the blue. I hope.” Ambrose sounded puzzled. “Your birthday is still on Halloween, isn’t it?” 

Jack was quiet for a moment, letting his eyes drift to the forgotten calendar on the wall. The thirty-first was circled in thick, red pen and a grinning smiley face had been doodled in the white square.  _ Fuck, my birthday is tomorrow _ ? It was more of a question at himself than a statement. 

“Oh, yeah. I…haven’t been the best about dates lately.” Jack told Ambrose, walking over to the calendar and fiddling with one of the bent corners. “Lots of work to be done.” Work as in, masturbating, crying, and stuffing his face with ungodly amounts of junk food. Not necessarily in that order, but close enough. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re keeping yourself busy, my little lantern, but make sure to take a break when you need one.” There was the sound of rustling clothes, and Jack imagined Ambrose settling himself in his arm chair. The older man was just lanky enough to toss his legs over the arm of a sitting chair, curling into it like a hermit crab into its shell. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I just love my work you know. I just get really invested in it.” And Netflix. Mostly Netflix, nowadays. “Thanks for the present.”

Something in his voice must have made his great-uncle suspicious, because the older man let out a thoughtful hum. “Do you have anything going on today? Let me treat you to dinner. I can hardly imagine your…” Ambrose took a deep breath, before continuing. “ _...parents  _ have anything planned. Not for you at least.” 

Jack gave himself a once-over, and then ran a hand through his greasy, unwashed hair. He let out an uncertain, barely perceptible whine and then looked at his calendar. It would be good to get out of the house, if only for a little bit. 

“Uh, you know what, that sounds great. I would love to see you.” Jack flexed his bare toes against the carpet. “What time did you want to meet?”

“Meet? Nonsense, I’ll come pick you up. You just rest today, get some extra sleep—you sound like you could use it. How does seven sound?” 

“Seven sounds great.” Jack mumbled into the phone staring into his coffee. 

After a bit of idle chatter, and the required niceties, Jack hung up and set his phone back on the counter. He picked his coffee back up and leaned against the counter, watching the kitchen fan spin in lazy circles above him. 

“Guess I have to clean up.” Jack muttered over the rim of his mug. If his great-uncle saw the state that Jack’s apartment was in, he’d have a coronary. 

 

It was roughly noon when his package arrived, neatly packed into a brown, unmarked box. The man delivering it was unremarkable, not bothering to ask for a signature before turning back down the hallway and presumably leaving the building.

Jack looked over the blank package, running black, freshly trimmed nails over the thin sheet of brown paper on the outside of it. “Could this have been made to look any more suspicious?” Jack questioned, turning the box slowly and listening to the object inside as it shifted, bumping into the cardboard box.

“What did you get me, a gold bar?” Jack asked, setting the box on the kitchen counter. Turning back to the oven, he checked the timer on the frozen pizza that he’d stuck in minutes before. He had a good fifteen minutes before had to take it out—plenty of time to open his present. Jack wasn’t sure if Ambrose had wanted him to wait to open the gift—but he didn’t mention  _ not  _ opening it. 

Underneath the brown paper, the box was shiny—not just a tiny little shimmer or shine caused by the light—the box was a bright, happy menagerie of gaudy, carnival colours that had Jack smiling. He couldn’t tell if the pattern were circles or balloons, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

Jack pried the box open, nearly giving himself a papercut on the cardboard as he did so. Pieces of tape that had been peeled off stuck to his arm hair, refusing to join its brethren that had been pressed to the kitchen table. 

“Well,  _ hello. _ ” Jack greeted as he carefully shook the item in the box into his hand. Cradled in one hand was a heavy ball with a series of sliding levels, sliding against one another with a perfect, suspicious ease. “You are  _ beautiful. _ ” He continued to breathe, running his fingers along it. 

It was made of a pale, nearly white substance—it felt almost like petrified wood, but it was too smooth. Too…

Jack felt a chill creep over him and his heart leap into his throat.  _ Bone.  _ He was holding a  fist-sized globe made of  _ bone  _ in his hand, with small, carved and painted symbols that Jack couldn’t recognise from memory.  _ It could be animal bone.  _ Jack reasoned, shifting it to his other hand and looking over it closely. Something in Jack’s gut  _ assured  _ him that it wasn’t made of an animal, but he shook it off. 

“Looks kind of cool. About what one might expect from their eccentric great uncle.” Jack held it up to his eye. “Guess it’s just decorative. I  _ hope  _ it’s just decorative. I don’t need any more magical items fucking up my life.” He set the small ball down on the table, feeling another cold chill tickle his spine when it didn’t roll away. “You…you aren’t haunted, or magically imbued…right buddy?” 

Not that Jack expected it to, but the globe didn’t answer. 

Jack nudged it with his finger, and it still refused to roll. He let out a thoughtful hum and picked it back up—if it was made of bone, it had to have some sort of solid metal or rock centre to account for the weight. Even if it was some weird wood that had been carved and painted to  _ look  _ like bone, it still wouldn’t have been as heavy as it was. 

Next, Jack began to fiddle with the sliding layers, letting them glide with careful spins around the entirety of the globe. Furrowing his brow, Jack titled it this way and that, trying to look for seam lines, for some sort of maker’s mark—but came up with nothing.

And then the ball began to  _ click.  _ Not quietly, or subtly—it was as loud as the chiming of a grandfather clock, and echoed painfully in Jack’s ears; he was sent from his chair in shock. One of his hands was clapped over his ear as he fell to the floor, whilst the other was still frozen around the item in his hand. 

And then the ball started to brighten, started to shine a lot like the cover of the box. The surface of the ball also started to heat, starting off lukewarm and slowly building until it felt as if it would melt Jack’s palm.

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _ ” Jack covered his eyes as white light flashed into the room, coating the walls and bleaching the carpet within seconds of touching it, leaving it smelling of chemicals that made Jack’s eye begin to burn. He twisted on to his belly as his throat tightened and almost instantly became dry.

_ This thing is going to kill me.  _ Jack thought, unable to get out the scream that was stuck in his throat. It twisted into a dry sob, causing his chest to shake in fear.  _ I wasn’t serious when I said I wanted to die. I mean, I was sort of, but I didn’t want to go like this.  _

The clicking soon turned into thunder—of hooves and screams—they crashed over Jack with the finality of war. Burning chemicals turned into acidic smoke, choking his lungs and leaving a heavy, leaden weight in his chest. Jack tried to dig is free hand into the carpet, only for his finger to clutch uselessly at blades of grass. They came free into his palm and Jack let out a confused groan, bringing the pieces to his face. 

Jack desperately tried to draw in breath between pained sobs; shifting into a sitting position, he felt the ball roll out of his hand and across the ground beside him, landing in a particularly wet part of dirt near him. Tears were easily sliding down Jack’s face as he went to clutch at his hand. He frowned when he found it entirely intact, except for what looked like a blurry, black dot in the centre of his palm.   

Going to stand on shaky legs, Jack fell part of the way up and fell forward, catching himself with a hand. Mud squelched between his fingers; he looked down at his unclothed torso, looking with disgust at the mud that had streaked its way across it from his fall. 

“I said  _ don’t  _ be magical.” Jack wheezed out as he tried to stand again. His legs protested, but he got up this time and was able to look around. The sound of battle rose and fell around him, but he could see  _ nothing.  _ Smoke filled the air around him, thick enough to pass as fog, if you ignored the smell.

A flash of light peeked up from the ground beside him, and he shook his head. Jack took a few stumbled steps backward, bringing a hand up to cough into it, trying to rasp out the word  _ no.  _ The orb, the ball,  _ whatever the hell it was,  _ was glowing. It was flashing and looked to be smoking, almost. Pulsing in a way similar to a strobe light—Jack’s ankle caught on a rock and he tumbled backward, crying out as he did so. 

Another choked sob left Jack’s lips and he brought his hand to cover his eyes, legs curling up under him. Somewhere, he heard someone shout, angry and vaguely in his direction. He scrambled backward, trying to get as far away from the ball as possible.

“Oh fuck no.” Jack whispered, freezing when his hand landed on something round and smooth—and  _ familiar.  _ Jack slowly turned his head, tilting it down to see the vague, white outline of the orb from before. He lurched forward—and then the fiery pain was  _ back,  _ spreading across his shoulders and spine. It was painful, curling around his skin and burning him. Black started to encroach on his vision, and Jack welcomed it, falling forward and feeling cool mud stick to his cheek and torso as he did so.

Words rose above him as he floated away toward unconsciousness, and a hand gently touched his cheek, drawing the soft fabric of gloves down his jaw. Jack turned his face toward it, letting it fall heavily into the hand. More words, some shouting in a language that Jack couldn’t understand—couldn’t  _ care  _ to understand—and then his mind, his  _ world  _ went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there friends! Can I call you friends?
> 
> Song(s) for this chapter:  
> Tip Toes by half•alive
> 
> Want to stay updated? Click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	2. Boys Will Gladly Go To War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, another chapter! Aha, just kidding, it's not that exciting.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment below! I would love to hear from you!  
> (Look at all those exclamation points, Jesus. Making up for my lack of them in the fic.)

 

Jack woke up to the feeling of hands, roving over his body. He jolted and flinched from their touch, trying to writhe away; when they attempted to pin him down, he twisted harder—he tried, desperately, to open his eyes—sleep had crusted them shut. The bottoms of Jack’s feet were licked by something wet,  _ hopefully,  _ water. 

Words were flying by Jack’s head; he supposed that they were directed at him, but he couldn’t understand them, no matter how hard he focused. It sounded vaguely like Chinese, Mandarin, specifically, but there was a cant to it. Something weird and out of place that skewed the words to where he couldn’t get a grip on them. Not to mention the disgustingly thick accent that was so saturated and heavy that it dripped from his captors lips like tree sap. 

“Get off of me.” Jack demanded; they tried to talk to him again, and the words  _ sounded  _ soothing. But that only made it worse. Jack didn’t want to be soothed--he wanted answers.

A wet cloth pressed over Jack’s eyes, and he felt the crusty remnants of sleep wiped from them. He popped them open without further prodding and arched his bare back off the floor. He swiveled his head around and nausea hit him like a ton of bricks. His body thudded back against the floor, leaving him groaning in pain. Hands and wet rags alike were petting at his skin. 

“I said get off.” Jack grunted, trying to sit up again, even as his head spun and his stomach protested. Looking around, he saw that the hands belonged to  _ women.  _ There was a fair mixture of young and old faces, half of them looking concerned, and the other half looking peeved. Jack didn’t want to be racist, but they  _ looked  _ Chinese. Dressed in clothing that you expected to see in a re-enactment and with their hair twisted into buns and heavy braids. Small bits of jewellery and flowers were threaded into their hair, glinting with the torchlight. 

One of the older women were motioning for something, and was handed a small decanter and a clean piece of cloth—she poured a dark red liquid over the rag in her hand, making sure that it soaked through completely before handing it to someone closer to Jack. Jack’s head was yanked back, and his senses  _ screamed.  _ The world spin and he opened his mouth to swear and the rag was shoved into his mouth. 

The reaction was immediate; sweet, cloying liquid spilled into Jack’s mouth and he instinctively swallowed in lieu of drowning. His head, already dizzy, shifted into full static, buzzing and wiping any thought of resistance from his mind. Jack relaxed back against the floor, watching in sluggish interest as his limbs became heavy and immobile. In the back of his mind, he was screaming, but the sound was quickly being muffled.

Jack felt his head rolled to the side and heard the vague sound of scissors clicking together near his hair. To his left, he could see walls made of white stone—a torch was attached to the clean wall behind it, flickering and kissing against the stone in occasion. 

_ They must clean the walls regularly.  _ Jack mused, letting his eyes travel along the walls. Large, wooden closets shined with a marbled, warm finish that Jack could only guess made the furniture watertight. 

_ Have I been kidnapped _ ?  _ I must have been. They wouldn’t have drugged me if I were a guest. _ Jack muttered to himself as he was moved into the pool; he had enough strength to flinch as the water covered his lower legs and paused. There was a chattering amongst the women, and then he felt a blade scrape across his lower belly. He would have panicked, if he had had the ability to. Tilting his head down, he saw a white, cold cream being applied to his stomach and pubic hair. 

_ I’m naked.  _ Jack muttered, furrowing his brows. Or he attempted to furrow his brows. His face wasn’t cooperating.  _ Why didn’t I notice that before?  _  He shuddered as he watched a straight razor smoothly shave away his happy trailed and quickly trim the straight, vibrantly red hair above his cock into a small square. 

Jack whined slightly, and the rag in his mouth was squeezed; more of the liquid slid down his throat and he went limp again. Hands wound themselves through his hair, and hands massaged some sort of oil into his thighs. It smelled excellent, and the entire process seemed more clinical than anything else--but it was scary as  _ fuck.  _ The idea of so many strangers, seeing him naked, touching him--if he wasn’t already nauseated, the thought would make him so.

It was a good hour of being physically manipulated and  _ constantly  _ drugged before Jack was forced to stand and stumble, wrapped in a towel, from the room and into an adjacent one. They’d washed and trimmed his hair, shaved his legs, armpits, and any other undesirable hair from his body. Perfumed oil was rubbed all over him, making him feel like a freshly basted bird about to be popped into the oven. 

“Where are you taking me?” Jack rasped. He didn’t know why—they couldn’t understand him. At least they’d taken the rag from his mouth. Jack assumed removing it was to lessen the effect of the drug, so that he didn’t need to carried everywhere he went.  More reassuring pats, and he was gently nudged towards the floor. Jack sat down, nearly falling over as he did so. 

He didn’t know what was on that cloth, but it was strong, if only temporary. The same woman who had been doing his nails sat down in front of him. She brought her thumb, index, and middle finger together, pinching them, and then pressed it to her mouth. She then pointed to Jack.

“Food?” Jack questioned, cocking his head to the side. The woman furrowed her brows, but Jack’s question was answered when a tray was placed over the woman’s lap by another. A bowl of rice, some lightly grilled meat of some sort, and a hearty bowl of vegetables was set upon it—simple and light. 

“Hey, uh. Look, I know that you can’t understand me.” Jack tried as the woman grabbed a set of…chopsticks? And took some rice upon them. “But, hey, look at me.” He reached out and grabbed her hand—she jumped and nearly dropped her utensils.

Separate hands grabbed at his and drew them away; Jack easily broke their grip, looking at them in distaste. “Why am I here? The tone of my voice should give something away.” When she didn’t respond with anything but a look of confusion, he groaned in frustration. He switched to Chinese, trying his question again. 

There was a quiet murmur in the women surrounding him, and a hand smoothed over his hair. His head was tilted up and dark eyes peered into his, turning it this way and that. The woman tried to speak with him, but he shook his head, feeling his eyes beginning to unwittingly water. The woman gave up quickly, before pushing his head back forward. 

The food on the tray was fed to him slowly, interrupted by sips of tea and the occasional jerk of a brush running through his hair. There would be something akin to an apology when this happened, and whomever was brushing hair was reprimanded. Some sort of scented lotion was being worked through his hair as the woman worked—it smelled vaguely of magnolia and citrus, and Jack’s headache was quickly banished with the scalp massage he was getting. 

When his food had been finished, the lady behind him began to weave something—most likely the same jewellery in her own hair—into his. Makeup replaced the food on the tray in front of him. The woman and several others crowded around to muse about the small jars in front of him that were filled with varying shades of paints and powder. 

They grabbed at his arm and drug it forward, drawing a thin brush with white paint upon it across his wrist—upon finding his wrist paler, they let out a soft gasp. Someone wiped the paint free, and the white was abandoned in favour of drawing red lip stain across his lips.

“Oh god, I do not like where this is going.” Jack muttered as a hand pinched his face, causing his lips to pucker. “Who’s going to fuck me, huh?” Jack asked; his arms were instantly pinned to his torso when they heard his aggressive tone. He let his eyes flicker to the woman closest to him. “You know what’s up, don’t you? You’re prettying me up for someone.”

Jack was harshly reprimanded, and he winced as someone clapped loudly, right next to him, and he was slapped lightly on the ear. If he was going to be taken advantage of, he wasn’t going to go down quietly.

“Go fuck yourself.” Jack told her dryly, though he didn’t move as eyeliner, as dark as the night itself, was drawn across his eyelids. “I’m going to rip his throat out. With my teeth.” They must have sensed the malice in his voice, because one of the women rose and all but darted across the room, gathering a set of freshly pressed robes. 

On top of it was a heavily embroidered, triangular cloth with thin strings dangling from it. “Is that a dudou?” Jack asked as he was hauled upward and his towel was stripped away. He let out a soft yelp as he was revealed to the women in the room. They didn’t seem to care one way or the other—until a man poked his head into the room and rattled something off that sounded a lot like an order. 

At the order, the women were on Jack in a rush—underwear was tied around his hips and the dudou was wrapped around him and tied behind his neck and his back. He barely caught a glimpse of the embroidery on the front, only barely able to notice it’s similarity to a dragon. 

“What the hell?” Jack demanded as he was subsequently buried beneath heavy, layered robes. They were dark and had thick, gold accents that were emblazoned along the edges and all of the embroidery seemed to be in the same colour. “Get me out of this stuff.” 

Despite Jack’s complaints, he was still too wobbly to walk by himself. So when he was lifted up and led from the room, he couldn’t fight against the women on either side of him. Passing through the doorway to the hall, he saw the man that had peeked in earlier. There was a sharp bit of conversation between the man and a woman at his side that he couldn’t understand. 

Jack made sure to drag his feet, the entire way to his destination. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of an easy defeat. The women didn’t seem to notice, at all, probably equating it to the drugs they’d given him. In fact, they spoke gently to him as he walked, occasionally stroking his accessory laden hair. 

“I hate all of you.” Jack told them, as cheerfully as he was able. “I hate all of you, and this situation. And you are very bad people. Which normally I would be really, really on board with, but this whole situation? Yeah, not really looking forward to where it’s going.” 

Jack’s conversation was greeted with more gentle pats and words, and he rolled his eyes. Turning his head, he noted the long wall scrolls that were scant inches from the floor—the pictures looked to be telling stories of great battles. Jack snorted and rolled his eyes again. 

“Ego. Whoever owns this place has an ego.” Jack told the women. His mouth went dry as he approached a large, what looked to be oaken door. “Ah, is he behind there? That door? Is my fated-to-be rapist in there?” 

There was a soft press to the middle of his back and he was forced to stand up straight. 

The room that Jack was tugged into took his breath away. 

It was  _ enormous.  _ A huge, dark wooden desk was pressed against a nearby window; fine handwriting was scrawled across several pages on top of it. The ink pen used in them was tucked neatly beside them. A bed was near opposite it, with a huge canopy that’s cloth was thin and dark, draping over the bone-bleached white of the wood that made up the frame.

On the other side of the room, standing almost  _ dramatically, _ was a tall, dark figure with a waterfall of dark hair tied into a loose ponytail. Jack furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes at the figure—it looked to be a man, judging by the build. A black robe, simple in design and settling  _ too  _ attractively over the figure’s hips, gave no hint either way. 

And then they  _ spoke.  _ It was quiet and hushed, rolling over the room like the thunder of the first storm of spring. Jack couldn’t understand it either, but it was definitely male. And  _ very  _ familiar. Jack couldn’t quite place it, but he knew it. 

“Who are you?” Jack asked—he was instantly ribbed by the women next to him, and they talked louder than him,  _ over  _ him, explaining something frantically. A hand rose, halting them with the simple gesture. He spoke again, and Jack would have been tearing at his hair if his hands and arms weren’t being held captive. 

The figure crooked his finger, and Jack was ribbed again. Fingers tapped at his chin, and Jack frowned, wincing away from them.

“Stop that.” Jack told her, trying to shake her off. “Just. Just don’t touch me, okay? Not anymore than you already are. I’m already freaking out.” His chin was grabbed gently and his face guided frontward, just in time for the figure to turn around.

Jack’s heart dropped to somewhere in his gut, never to be found again. 

“Chase?” Jack’s voice was shaky and uncertain. The mountain of a man in front of him was taller then the Chase he knew, with thicker hair and skin that was a shade darker than normal. But it  _ was  _ Chase. The lips, the nose, the hard, high cheekbones--not to mention the powerful way in which he walked. Or the  _ sneer  _ that he’d adopted upon looking at Jack. 

A sneer that dropped as soon as he let himself truly look Jack over; it felt so  _ intimate  _ the way that the eyes roved over him. He might as well have been naked, for how Chase was looking at him. The room that had seemed so  _ large  _ was easily crossed by Chase, bringing him directly in front of Jack. 

Jack panicked and flailed backward; still weak, he couldn’t break the hold that the women had on him—so when Chase reached forward to grab at his chin, he let out a soft whimper and accepted his fate. He squeezed his eyes shut, breath coming to him in almost sobbed pants and leaving him in tiny whines. There was no way he could fight Chase off. Not even some weird, post-apocalypse, slave-using Chase.

_ Wait. _

No, not weird, post-apocalypse. The thought had him opening his still-wet eyes and letting them ghost over Chase’s face. 

“Alternate dimension.” Jack breathed, even as he was tugged forward. “Doesn’t seem that stupid, considering all the shit I’ve seen huh? And you can’t understand me, can you asshole?” 

A finger was pressed to his lips, an unamused look crossing Chase’s face. 

“Or can you?” Jack whispered against the finger on his lips. Chase jolted, then cocked his head to the side.  “Oh boy, no you can’t. I have an opportunity here to tell you how I feel.” He took a deep, honest breath, and then bared his teeth. “You’re an old, useless, immortal,  _ dickwad.  _ I have literally no words to describe how much of a rotten cunt you are.” His teeth turned into a smile. “It’s fantastic.” 

Chase made a hushing noise, pressing his thumb against Jack’s bottom lip. His free hand pressed against Jack’s chest, sliding along it and  _ feeling Jack up.  _ While the women, maids, slaves,  _ whatever  _ held him still. 

A thumb brushed over clothed nipples and Jack tried to wrench away; the hand on Jack’s jaw slid around the back of his neck and held him still as the remaining hand wandered down and between Jack’s thighs. He yelped as Chase tried to grope him through the layered robes and thin underwear, watching half-heartedly as Chase’s face became puzzled. 

The next thing Jack knew, the bottom of the robes were being tossed up, Chase more determined to find out what was underneath them. 

“Did you think I was a woman?” Jack asked, attempting to kick out at this pseudo-universe Chase. The man caught his legs and pushed them away as they came, ignoring them otherwise. Jack didn’t know where his bravery was coming from—normally he would have been shaking. Maybe with an inability to run, his body had locked into fight mode. “Bad news for you, fucker. I’ve got a dick.” 

Jack was about to fire off another insult when a hand cupped him, now directly on the outside of his underwear. Jack gasped, and Chase’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. He looked up at Jack, and then tossed the robes up further, looking at what he was presented with. 

“Oh my god.” Jack gasped breathlessly as the hand stroked upward, and he could feel Chase nod beneath his robes.  _ God  _ that felt weird. And good. Weirdly good. Jack had to bite his bottom lip to not let out a whine, legs falling uselessly from where they’d been trying to kick the other man. Chase gently pet at one of them in reassurance, and Jack wanted to kick him but  _ god  _ all his energy had to work on keeping his mouth shut.

On either side of him, he saw the women trying not to laugh, faces pinched in amusement as Jack’s cheeks reddened. Not soon after, Chase removed himself from Jack, letting the human go and taking a step back. He rearranged Jack’s robes back to a presentable state, before addressing the women on either side of him. 

They nodded to Chase, to whatever he had said, and Jack was being drawn back. Before they left, however, Chase stopped them to address Jack. Jack didn’t understand, at first, but caught on as he was drug from the room. Chase had introduced himself in a thick, barely understandable accent—so unintelligible that Jack only caught the second half. 

_ Young.  _

That confirmed it, for Jack. Jack was dealing with  _ the  _ Chase Young. Maybe a strange, foreign, alternate version of the well-known warlord and Heylin prince. But it  _ was  _ Chase Young. 

Jack groaned as he was made to walk down the hallway, in the opposite way that they’d came—the women still seemed friendly and helpful, letting him use them as crutches as they walked along.  _  Well.  _ Jack thought, turning his head up so he could trace his eyes along the curved, upper ceiling.  _ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> Help by Papa Roach
> 
>  
> 
> Want to stay updated? Click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	3. Subtle Worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> If you enjoy this chapter, please, leave a comment below--I'd love your opinion on this fic so far, and if it's keeping your interest!

 

Of all the places that the women could have taken Jack, he didn’t expect a bedroom. _Especially_ not a nice one. Jack let out a quiet noise of wonder as he was led in, officially back in charge of his own body.

The room in question was nothing like Chase’s; no four-poster bed was pushed against the wall, and the desk that was provided was small. It was still nudged in front of a window—though this one was made of stained-glass that depicted a rising sun. The bed in the room was set in the wall farthest from Jack, with huge, carved desert roses being the only part of the frame sticking out.

Above him, the ceiling was curved and swam with a beautifully painted mural—dragon's dove in and around each other, twisting red and black scales together as they flew across an improvised sky made of buon-fresco and secco.

 _“Wow._ ” Jack breathed, even as he was tugged toward an armoire to the side. Hands attempted to tug at his robes, and he batted them away in defiance. They retreated instantly, instead opening the doors to the wardrobe—inside was a menagerie of colourful robes similar to the one Jack was wearing, as well as some plain-patterned, single-colour pieces of cloth.

The older of the two women pointed at one of the paler shades of green, taking Jack’s hand gently in her own and bringing it to feel the cloth. It was _insanely_ soft under his fingers, and he reached in to gently remove it from the hanger.

“Is this something to sleep in?” Jack asked, running his hands over the material with mild reverence. The women didn’t respond, naturally, offering only nervous smiles. It was easy to tell that Chase had said something to them—something that had replaced the amusement in their eyes with fear.

The older one tugged at Jack’s sleeve once again, and then pointed at the robe in Jack’s hands. He gave her a quick once over, before sighing. Jack handed the robe to her and stuck out his arms—the two women went about undressing him as clinically as they were able.

Jack turned to the young one, cocking an eyebrow. “What did Chase tell you?” He asked. At the warlord’s name, the young woman winced and looked away, fingers pulled away from Jack. The older woman pat Jack’s arm, before gently squeezing it. She reached up and Jack flinched as a warm wash cloth began to clean his face. He waited patiently as the make-up was removed, only speaking when the hands moved to remove the plaits and decorations from his hair.

“My name is Jack.” Jack tried, pointing at himself. “Jack.”

The women both looked at him, puzzled for a moment. He repeated his name, poking at his chest. They turned to each other, then back at Jack—they let his name roll off their tongue, adding a sharp crack to the end that made it sound far more powerful than it was.

“Jack.” The older one said, tapping his chest. She said something parallel to it, something jumbled, long sentence that he didn’t even try to translate. Noticing his look of confusion, she repeated his name again with a gentle smile.

To his left, the younger one had come back to untie his dudou, catching it as it tipped forward and off his chest. Jack reached for it and it was given to him easily. Just as he thought, the front of it was a dragon. Jack tapped it. “Is this Chase? Does this symbolise Chase?”

“Chase Young.” The younger one confirmed, drawing her hands down the bright beads. She blathered on about something further, looking up at Jack with envious eyes. The woman on the other side of Jack snapped at her sharply, and she looked away, tugging at the dudou and taking it with her to the other side of the room.

“You can have him.” Jack told her, letting the older woman tug on the white robe, tying it loosely around his waist. “He’s a real asshole, where I come from. Total dick. I mean, not saying that your Chase is. Maybe he kisses babies and helps old women cross the road in his spare time. But you won’t see me holding my breath.”

There was something freeing about just being able to speak without judgement—the women still had those patient grins on their faces, listening raptly. Jack shivered as cold hands briefly touched his hips on either side and his underwear were removed.

Jack turned his head, taking a look at a window near him—it was made of stained glass and depicted a sun rising with bright oranges and yellows. It was dark on the other side of the glass, clearly night. In response, Jack’s eyes jumped to the lamps that hung far above his head, too far for any human to conveniently reach—and yet the stone beneath it and the ceiling was impossibly clean and free of scorch marks.

“What kind of black magic bullshit is that?” Jack muttered, stepping closer to the window to peer up at the flickering lamp. The cloth of his robe brushed between his thighs as he moved, and he shuddered. That felt _fantastic,_ and Jack briefly scolded himself. _Bad Jack._

With all the money he’d amassed, he had never once thought about getting fancy clothes.

The older woman laid a hand on Jack’s arm, drawing him closer to the window and pressing her hand against it. Jack followed suit, surprised to find it chilled. She laughed as Jack brought his other hand up, pressing them both against the cold glass—he would have to get a good look outside to tell, but he guessed it to be fall.

“Jack.” The younger woman called his name; she’d made her way over to the bed, and looked to be waiting for Jack. She pointed into the bed, and then gestured at him.

Jack rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be tugged over to the bed. There was a short conversation between the women, before he was nudged forward. “I am _not_ going to be able to sleep.” Jack told them, even as his slipped his slippers off. He was secretly dying to see how soft the bed was.

The answer was _ungodly_ soft. Thick, dark quilts were spread out over the mattress and a mountain of pillows were piled attractively in the corner, teasing Jack and begging him to lay his head on them. Jack was about to climb on to the bed, when the women pulled him back gently. He looked at them, partially peeved, before realising that they were showing him the chamber pot and small chest that was stored underneath the bed. In the chest were a set of neatly folded blankets and a few extra pillows. Jack hardly thought that he’d need them, but it was nice to know they were there.

“Thanks.” Jack told them, even as they continued to show him a silver carafe and a goblet that was placed on an end table near the foot of his bed directly outside it. The older woman showed him, briefly, how to properly grip it—and then poured him a goblet of a thick, dark liquid.

“Is that wine?” Jack asked, reaching a hand out for the cup. It was handed over to him without a fuss, and he took a sniff. “It is wine. Grape wine.” He took a careful sip, confirming his theory. “Watered down too. Not meant to get me drunk—good though. Really good.” He took another sip, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It was sweet and heavy on his tongue, slipping down his throat without the slightest bite. “I kind of want to know what this tastes like, full-bore.”

Jack went to move back toward the bed, and was met with a high, frantic complaint that had him stopping in his tracks. Careful fingers plucked the wine from his hand, while the younger woman pet the bed, then pointed at the wine.

 _Of course._ Jack nodded in understanding. No wine on the bed—wine stained, and judging by the panic on the women’s faces, they weren’t prepared to deal with a mess. Not at this hour. “Okay, so. If I go to bed, are you two going to leave?” Jack asked, crawling onto his bed—and instantly realised how _tired_ he was. His body reminded him of all the aches and pain from his journey to this universe, returning in full force.

The women remained as Jack got himself comfortable, nestling under the heavy quilts. Both women covered their mouths, hiding gentle laughter.

“I know I look rather lumpy.” Jack muttered, closing his eyes and just letting his hands run over the quilts. “But frankly I don’t give a shit, because fucking _hell._ This bed has to be illegal.” Hand smoothed over the quilts, and the women made soft, cooing noises at him. One brushed the hair from his face, and he turned away from her hand.

Despite how comfortable the bed was, Jack had a horrible time falling asleep. Even after the women had picked up the barely dirty room and _somehow_ put out the lanterns, he couldn’t get himself in the right mindset for an hour, at least. His mind kept spinning back to the fact that this world wasn’t his world.

It was a stretch, jumping straight to the idea of an alternate universe. Jack knew that—and he _also_ knew that no one could really judge him for thinking it. His rationale was easy to explain—Chase would _never_ go this length to mess with Jack. Not the Chase he was used to. Chase barely expended the energy to look at Jack, most of the time—and he wouldn’t have the patience to let another Chase simply _exist_ alongside him. Certainly not one that seemed to have so much power.

In Jack’s opinion, nothing else made much sense. It was with this thought in mind, he finally fell asleep.

 

Jack was awoken by an unfamiliar face and a gentle, warm washcloth rinsing his face. He shoved the hand away from him, curling up tightly under his quilts, even going as far as to pull it over his head. There was soft laughter from outside his small, poorly constructed fort. Hands tugged at his blankets, and he reluctantly let them be pulled away.

There was a soft gasp from the woman in front of him, and she took a piece of hair between her fingers in awe. He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, and she clucked at him. She gently folded her hands against her chest, and then enunciated something—once, twice, three times—and Jack realised that it must be her name.

“ _Ya._ ” She repeated, keeping her hands against her chest. Jack parroted it back at her, and she beamed at him. Ya moved forward slightly, and Jack realised she was on her knees. She pressed her hand over Jack’s heart. “Jack.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Jack told, sitting up. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, frowning at him.

Ya let him sit up, and rose from where she was kneeling. Jack’s mouth went dry—the woman _towered_ over him, long dark hair spilling over her shoulders. “Oh shit, hello there. Didn’t know you were so…tall.” He swallowed, watching Ya gather a small folding tray from the wall and set it before Jack.

A silver platter was set atop the tray, holding two thick slices of brown bread. Fruits and nuts dotted the insides, whilst some sort of white powder and honey dusted both the top and open-faced sides. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Ya pouring a cup of tea; tiny wisps of steam slipped up from it and into the air. Ya set it beside the bed on the tray and pointed at it, then herself. She gripped her shoulders and shook slightly, miming being cold.

“Uh, so because it’s cold, I should drink the tea.” Jack clarified for himself. “I mean, I hope it’s tea? It looks like tea. Could be coffee I guess.” He muttered, picking it up and giving it a sniff. “Smells like tea.”

Ya said nothing, folding her legs back beneath her and looking at Jack. He took a careful sip of the tea, expecting it to burn—he let out a noise of surprise when he found it just a notch above warm, perfect for drinking.

“I am so confused.” Jack told Ya, setting his cup down and plucking at the bread. Pulling a piece off, he popped it in his mouth and began to chew it thoughtfully. It was _sweet,_ and not just because of the honey. He could identify the apricots and dates that were packed tightly in the bread, but couldn’t identify the nuts. They were small and hard in comparison to the fruits, therefore considerably less enjoyable.

After Jack had picked apart one of the piece of bread, Ya stood again, leaving Jack’s immediate view, heading in the direction of the armoire. Jack tilted his body slightly, attempting to see past the bed frame and failing miserably. Jack settled back on the bed, not wanting to risk knocking the table over, despite how fiercely his curiosity was plucking at his senses.

“What kind of bread is this?” Jack muttered, picking the entire piece of bread up and taking a bite out of the corner. Honey was sticking to every possible digit of his hand, and had been transferred to his cup due to it. Jack was halfway through licking it off his fingers when Ya returned.

“Jack.” Ya’s tone was amused and a set of pale green, embroidered robes were tucked over her arm. She set them aside, grabbing her washcloth once more and dipping it into a previously unseen bowl.  He shrugged at her, letting her clean off his face and hands. She was murmuring something to him as she did so, eyes smiling along with her lips.

“I feel like I’m going to go see Chase again.” Jack told her; Ya froze, but only briefly, before taking both the silver platter and folding tray away. A dudou, equally as beaded and decorated but different in colour replaced them, as well as a pair of similar underwear from the day before.

Ya made to untie his robe, and Jack kicked his way backward on to the bed. “I can do it myself. At least the underwear part.”

Something in Jack’s face or tone must have got his point across, because he was offered the small pile of undergarments. Jack stood, forcing Ya back. He grabbed the pair of archaic underwear from the top and tied one side—he stepped into them and pulled them over his hips, using the bottom of his robe as a curtain, hiding himself the best he could. When he was ready, he turned to face the woman, cheeks burning.

Ya didn’t seem to mind either way, disrobing Jack was practiced ease. She only paused to admire Jack briefly when his robe fell away, before picking up the robes she’d brought over.

“I am so uncomfortable right now.” Jack muttered, shuddering as the dudou was tied back to his chest—he wondered why he needed it, but only briefly. It was probably some sort of symbol of ownership. “You know, I considered fighting back.” Jack told Ya, running his hands over the front of his dudou as the thought aloud. “But you are way too muscled for that. Look at you. You could break a man in half.”

Ya hummed at him, dressing him—the robes were lighter from the ones the evening before, but his body still ached as he moved his limbs to cooperate. “Like, you could pin me down and dress me if you wanted. Want to try it? I bet I’d be into it.”

The woman flicked her eyes up to look at Jack, furrowing her brow. Ya briefly halted in dressing him, pressing her hand against his chest once against. Her words sounded honest, an attempt to calm him, but Jack looked at her dumbly. And then he _bolted_ toward the door.

Or he attempted to.

Jack made it all of two steps before he was swept into a tight embrace, and Ya grunted something out against Jack’s shoulder, holding him still. Jack didn’t try to squirm, but cursed at her, toes curling against the cold floor.

“See how fun that was?” Jack asked as he was bodily lifted into the air and returned to stand beside the bed.

Ya placed her hands-on Jack’s shoulders, looking him in the eye and saying something slow and laden with warning. Jack shrugged nonchalantly at her, watching as she went back about dressing him. She briefly ran her hands over his legs, from thigh to calf, before nodding.

“Do you think it’d be rude to kick Chase in the face?” Jack asked, watching Ya’s shoulders jump. Chase was _definitely_ feared by these people. “Can I kick _you_ in the face? Not that I would, but I like to keep my options open.”

Short work was made of the rest of his robes, and Jack behaved while Ya tightened his belt. One of her hands slid into his, tugging him over to the vanity. Once again, lotion was worked into his skin and light makeup was applied to his lips and eyes.

“Oh, I guess I am going to go see him,” Jack stated aloud, frowning at himself in the mirror as his hair was pulled into a small ponytail. Ya pet the hair gently, and then leaned over Jack’s shoulder, pointing at the young man’s reflection. She smoothed her thumb over his cheek and whispered something reverently.

Jack looked up at her, smiling. “Go eat a dick.” He told her, keeping his tone bright. Ya chuckled, helping Jack stand up. He laughed, shaking his head. He knew that this would get old, but for now he was going to enjoy cursing out every, single, person who touched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of the chapter! 
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> Anywhere But Where I Am by Foreign Fields
> 
> Want to stay updated? Click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	4. Dumpling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter? What is this nonsense!  
> Just kidding, here's another chapter of Spoils of War! And if you liked this chapter, or would like to discuss anything in this chapter, then I would love to hear from you below! I love interacting with y'all!

 

Ya’s hand was pressed to the small of his back, shepherding him forward through empty, impressive halls. The ceilings stretched upward and then bowed into smooth curves; the architecture of the castle was aesthetically pleasing, but it sent an eerie, uncanny valley influenced shiver through Jack.

“Awfully empty in here, Ya.” Jack told her, swallowing nervously. She paused for only a second, letting her eyes fall on Jack, before pressing him forward. “I know there are a ton of people working here, judging by both the size of the building and the literal _army_ of women that was used to hold me down. Still not over that.”

Ya smoothed her hand over his back, rubbing soothing circles against it through the thin fabric of his robe. Jack felt the barest hint of nails, and shuddered into the touch. Ya chuckled, letting her hand wander higher on his back. Soft, reassuring words were purring out of her mouth and Jack frowned.

“God, life would be so much easier if we all spoke the same language.” Jack muttered, shaking a fist close to his chest. “Damn you, Nimrod. You and your damn tower of Babel.”

 

Jack was getting tired of doors, and _fast._ This particular door led him into a dining room; sitting at a low set, wooden table was Chase, dressed in an impressive, colourful regalia. He offered a nod to Ya, and then a cordial, small grin for Jack.

Ya drew him over to one of the cushions sat on the floor, urging him to sit down—Jack did so, focusing his eyes on the table instead of Chase. It was fully covered in any number of foodstuffs, ranging from sweet and salty steamed buns to wontons and dumplings. Two teapots set nearby, and a full cup of tea was already set on the right of Chase, sending thin wisps of steam up into the air.

Ya gently grabbed the arm closest to Chase, and Jack flinched from her touch; her touch was traded for Chase’s before he could pull away, and Jack watched in muted, confused wonder as Chase turned it over in his hands. The warlord bent down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the side of Jack’s wrist, hot breath ghosting over the pale skin before pulling away.

Chase said something to Jack, pressing his thumb into Jack’s palm, before releasing the hand all together.

“That was weird, that was _really_ weird.” Jack told Chase, darting his eyes to Ya—only to realise that she’d absconded to the entrance and out the door and shut it behind her. Jack turned his attention back toward Chase, who was flicking his eyes between Jack and the meal on the table.

“I, uh. I already ate.” Jack told him, even as he fidgeted with the chopsticks in front of him. Chase tilted his head to the side, turning toward the teapots and then turning them slightly so that Jack could see the designs that covered each side. He looked at Jack, obviously expecting an answer.

Both had flowers—not that Jack was good at identifying plant life. He brought his hands up to his forehead, pressing his thumbs directly above his eyebrows and letting out an unsure noise. “They’re both white flowers, how…that one is just a little more yellow, come _on_. Or it has like a yellow centre, I guess—fuck.”

“Jack.” Chase said his name, low and steady. Jack turned his attention toward him, and felt one of his hands gently tugged down. Jack followed the physical instruction, letting his hands fall into his lap. He watched, curiously, as Chase poured him two separate cups, one of each tea.

“Thanks, I guess?” Jack muttered as the cups were put in front of him, saucer and all. As a child, Jack spent a good amount of time with his grandmother—he could tell an expensive set of china from a cheap one—and _fuck_ this set was nice. The rims were set with gold, and the pattern of long, snake like dragons on the side had their scales carved from any number of gems, all tiny and carefully set in the glass.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see Chase dishing up a hearty plate of food. He cracked a smile at him. “Someone didn’t eat this morning, did he? I mean, in all fairness, you’re twice my size. You could probably eat me and still be hungry—” Jack cut himself off, clamping his lips shut. And then he snorted. “—I was going to say that was inappropriate, but you can’t even understand me.”

Chase made some sort of noise of acknowledgement, humming gently as he plucked up a few, overstuffed dumplings and added them to his plate. He noticed Jack’s attention, and poked at them gently with his chopsticks. A single word left his lips as he poked at them again.

“Dumpling?” Jack asked.

Chase repeated the word again, and then cleared his throat. “ _Dumpling._ ” He said gently; again, he repeated his original word. Jack parroted it back at him, and Chase nodded.

“ _Dumpling._ ” Jack told him, parroting the word once again in Chase’s language. “Guess you have to learn to communicate with me eventually. Good game plan. Starting small.” Jack shifted around, and then jumped when the plate in Chase’s hand was placed in front of him.

Jack turned toward him, pointing at the massive portion on his plate. “I can’t eat this. I ate already.”

Chase furrowed his brow, and then went to grab a separate plate and start placing food on it for himself. Jack let out a frustrated sigh—the food smelled _divine,_ like god himself had laid it out—but he wasn’t genuinely hungry. He pursed his lips, staring at the meal in front of him, and then back at Chase.

“Chase, what the fuck.” Jack stated, pushing the plate away from him minutely. Saying his name had gotten the warlord’s attention instantly. “You have to know I ate this morning. Ya knew I was coming to breakfast with you.”

Chase stared at him for a moment, before reaching over and grabbing a wrapped-up napkin that Jack hadn’t noticed. He unrolled it deftly, revealing a set of slender, silver, two-pronged forks. Jack stared at them for a moment, and then looked up at Chase blandly.

Jack let out an unimpressed sigh, picking up his set of chopsticks and staring down at his plate. “This language barrier thing is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

Chase reached over, fingers gently brushing Jack’s cheek, and then moving to rest lightly on Jack’s shoulder. Jack looked up at him, becoming instantly concerned at the look on Chase’s face. He seemed almost… _sympathetic._ Jack didn’t like that.

And then Chase started _talking._ What bothered Jack was that the language was so _close_ to Chinese that he felt like he should be able to understand it. But instead of coming at him in clear sentences, they were jumbled and unintelligible.

Jack slumped forward, unenthusiastically poking at a wonton with his chopsticks. Chase’s fingers ghosted his face once again, light and reverent in their touch. Jack pulled his head away, giving Chase a look that could only be described as _scalding,_ before returning to the food in front of him.

Chase let out a soft huff, and then he cupped Jack’s face, tilting it towards him. “Jack, _dumpling._ ” He enunciated; Jack’s cheeks flushed red at the use of the pet name. Chase let go of his face to gently prod at Jack’s cheek, repeating himself. “ _Dumpling._ ”

“Are you calling me food, or cute?” Jack asked, ducking his head down and away from Chase. The warlord let out a soft laugh, pulling his hand back to him. He took a moment to tap Jack’s plate.

Jack let out a disgusted noise, fiddling with the cups in front of him. Sighing, he conceded. “I’ll _try_ to eat something.”

 

Jack was hungrier than he thought he was, easily eating half of his plate—and a bit more when Chase insistently nudged the plate toward him, even going so far as to pick up the food with his own chopstick and offer it to the human.

“I get to take a nap now, right?” Jack asked as Chase motioned at him to stand. As if by magic, Ya was _there,_ now offering him a hand. “Where the fuck did you go, earlier?” He asked instantly, taking the offered hand and getting to his feet.

Ya ignored him, exchanging a few words with Chase before giving a short bow. She let go of Jack and padded forward, back toward the door, but only to chatter with someone on the other side—seconds later, the doors opened, accompanied by a set of armoured guards.

Jack let out a yelp as Chase took his hand in his own, lifting it up and extending it in front of Jack. He cocked his head to the side, letting his thumb wander over Jack’s knuckles, letting out a soft noise of concern.

“What’s with the guards?” Jack questioned Chase, trying to ignore the featherlight touches to his fingers. Chase had employed the help of his other hand, stepping forward to get a better look at them. Ya was called over within seconds, and she made an equally as disturbed noise.

Chase forced Jack’s fingers all the way outward, pointing to the callous’ on the ends of them. He rubbed his thumb over them and stressed his words. Ya nodded, folding her arms behind her back. Jack’s arm was gently released, and Chase took a step away from him—to the left.

“You have to break a few eggs to make an omelette or whatever.” Jack told Chase, reaching over to wiggle his fingers in Chase’s direction. Chase cocked an eyebrow at the human, and Jack frowned when Ya grabbed his hands and pulled them away.

Jack pulled them away from her, frowning. “Stay in your lane, Ya.”

Ya went to grab at his hands again, but was interrupted. Chase had snapped at her, voice sharp—but there was a tad bit of amusement laced beneath.

“Jack.” Ya murmured, gently laying a hand on Jack’s shoulder and nudging his hands downward. He lowered them whilst narrowing his eyes at the woman next to him. “Jack.” She repeated, gentle and careful, eyes flicking to Chase.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep my hands down. Go sit on a cactus.” Jack told her with a low hiss, crossing his arms over his chest.

The guards followed behind them as they walked, with Chase chatting the entire way. Jack assumed it was to him, since Ya wasn’t responding to him, and the warlord would occasionally reach over and brush his shoulder or his arm to grab his attention.

“Do you just like to hear yourself talk or…?” Jack gestured at Chase with his hands. Chase cocked his head to the side, stopping the procession in front of yet _another_ closed door.

On the other side was another magnificent, spacious room that had Jack rolling his eyes. Huge, floor-length, clear windows with the drapery pulled back lined the far wall, letting in an ample amount of light that dug deep into every corner of the room, leaving not an inch unlit.

Jack all but ran toward the window, nearly tripping over his robes with the effort of it; he pressed himself up against the glass, feeling the cool of it beneath his fingers and cheek. Huge, orange and yellow trees were nestled next to the castle—every now and then Jack’s eyes would catch a fleck of green—some sort of coniferous tree that had snuck in, he imagined.

From where Jack stood he could see a partial garden and a small lake as well, but not much more—no houses nor other settlements besides the castle.

“It _is_ fall.” Jack murmured in awe, pressing his face closer. “I _love_ fall. I wonder if it’s still technically my birthday?”

Jack heard some chatter behind him. He furrowed his brow and turned his head, noticing that the guards had abandoned them outside; Chase had sat down on a chaise near the door, speaking to a portly, ethically obtuse man that Jack hadn’t noticed due to his rush to look out the window. Sensing his attention, Chase stood and offered a hand, calling his name gently.

“Uh uh, you’re going to have to come get me.” Jack told him, frankly, because he could. He propped his hands on his hips, looking as defiant as physically possible.

Chase cocked an eyebrow, and Jack expected him to draw himself to his full height; instead, Chase’s expression softened. _“Dumpling_ ?” He tried, twitching his offered fingers. Jack drew his bottom lip into his mouth, humming out loud. Chase had just started using the term, and it was already hard to resist—but _why?_

“Don’t try and be cute with me.” Jack warned as he came over, waggling a finger at the warlord. Chase didn’t seem to mind, happy enough that Jack had responded. “Calling me a dumpling isn’t going to work forever.” He slipped his hand into Chase’s, blushing when his wrist was once again brought to the warlord’s lips.

Jack’s pulse spiked as the lips moved up a fraction; Jack felt a tongue gently brush the prominent tendon there, and he let out an uncertain squeak—was alternate Chase a vampire? Jack wasn’t sure he was ready for that sort of reveal.

Thankfully, Chase pulled away, but not before kissing Jack’s wrist again. Jack pulled his arm to him as soon as it was released, regarding Chase with a healthy level of suspicion. Chase hushed him gently, and Jack was pushed back behind the warlord. His foot caught on his robes, and given no other choice, he scrambled for the lounge chair behind him.

He landed with much more grace than he expected, robes fluttering around him like the torn wings of a butterfly—Ya was upon him in the second, kneeling before him to unwind his robes from his ankles—Chase barked something sharp at her, and he saw her face fold-in on herself, switching from concern to fear. She began to shakily repeat something over and over again to Jack, gently testing his ankle with her fingers.

Chase turned to the man once more, snapping at him and pointing toward a table that was positively _drowning_ in multi-coloured fabric. He held his hands out, stuttering much the same way as Ya was. One of his hands went up to smooth his blonde hair, almost reflexively.

“It’s not sprained.” Jack told Ya, tugging up his robe a tad to offer his ankle for better inspection. He looked at Chase who seemed to still be berating the man in front of him. “Chase. Stop being an asshole.”

The warlord looked at Jack, giving him a once over, shoulders rigid and immovable.

“Okay, look me in the eye.” Jack said; he definitely had Chase’s attention—the warlord has stopped moving and speaking, eyes roving over Jack’s face yet not quite meeting his eyes. “Stop. Being. An. Asshole.”

Chase cocked an eyebrow, and then snorted. He said _something,_ and then turned on his heel, heading toward the door. Ya’s shoulders dropped as soon as he left the room, and she pressed her head against the side of the chaise, muttering quietly, her hand still on Jack’s ankle.

“What is his _problem_?” Jack asked as Ya pulled away, keeping his brow furrowed. Ya looked at him, matching his expression before shaking her head. “I mean, my Chase is a piece of shit, but fuck. Does yours have a pinecone stuck up his ass?”

Ya pursed her lips and straightened Jack’s hair, and then his robes. As Jack was made to stand, he winced; Ya’s hands were gently petting over him in an instant, searching for the source of the hurt.

“I just landed kind of hard on my butt.” Jack told her, batting her hands away. “If you keep touching me, I don’t see our relationship going well Ya. It’s like all over you have a thing with _touching_. I barely like my own hands on myself, let alone a strangers.”

Ya fret over him for a minute or two longer, before urging him forward to stand in the centre of the room. She let out a strange mumble and then dug her fingers underneath the top-layer robe, peeling it away from Jack; he was _instantly_ cold, and he reached for the robe without thinking.

“Fuck it’s, freezing, give that back.” Jack demanded, holding his hands out for it. Ya ignored him, tossing it to the chaise and going to remove the next layer. Jack stepped away from her, wrapping his arms around himself. “Oh, hell no. I’m done with people undressing me.”

“Jack.” Ya spoke his name with a frustrated plea. She held her thumb and forefinger apart, and then pressed her hands together like she was about to pray. Jack narrowed his eyes, but let his arms fall.

“I’m only doing this because I feel bad for you.” Jack told her, shivering further when she tugged off the next layer. The portly man had waddled over, clucking something or another. Ya snapped at him, warm fingers briefly touching Jack's sides.

“Who’s this guy?” Jack asked as pudgy fingers went to run along the prominent divots where his ribs were. He chattered at Ya again, prodding Jack’s side.

Jack let out a yelp and stepped backward as Ya drew herself to her full height, head jerking up. The back of Ya’s hand came down across the man’s face, the sound sharp and painful as it echoed through the room. It sent the blonde man tumbling down to the floor, but not crying out.

Brown eyes looked up at Ya, unimpressed despite the circumstance. Now it was _Ya_ , lecturing the man, though in a far more cordial, friendly manner than Chase.

“You just bitch-slapped him to the _floor._ ” Jack whispered, and then he laughed. “I don’t know what the fuck to expect anymore, just. You just _backhanded_ him.” He pressed his palm to his forehead. “What the fuck.”

Ya pointed to the man on the floor, looking at Jack. “ _Duyi,”_ She pointed to Jack. “Jack.”

“Jack.” Duyi repeated, sounding sore. He slowly got to his feet, and Jack could see a bruise already forming on the side of his face that Ya had struck. Ya nodded, keeping her eyes on Duyi.

“Yes, Jack. Now we’ve all said my name.” Jack said dryly. “Now can we get on with this or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> M.I.L.F by Fergie
> 
> Want to stay updated? Click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	5. Briefly Bloody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it me, or are these chapters getting longer?  
> Hm.  
> Must be me.
> 
> Anyway, hello! I know that we all have busy lives, but if you find yourself at the bottom of the page and are both craving more and feeling generous, please, please leave a comment! I really appreciate them!
> 
> Unbeta'd

 

Before Jack could say anything more, Duyi was sinking to his knees at the albino’s feet. Jack took a step back, and intended to sass him—but the air was knocked from his chest as he slammed into Ya’s chest. She let out a low grunt and steadied him, careful of where she placed her fingers.

Duyi, on the other hand, was _bowing,_ touching his forehead to the floor. He was repeating some sort of cant, hands placed on either side of his head whilst he did so. Jack wanted to look away, he really did. The entire thing was far too personal for him to watch; but at the same time, he couldn’t look _away._ It was mesmerising.

“Why’s he doing that?” Jack asked in a whisper, not entirely sure to whom his question was directed. Duyi scoot forward on the floor, fingers inches from Jack’s slipper-covered toes, voice raising in pitch. Ya’s fingers gently squeezed Jack’s shoulders, and she whispered something softly in his ear, each word reverent.  

It felt like ages before the man got up off the floor, offering Jack a final bow and folding of his hands. He shuffled off to the cloth covered table, picking up a fair-sized basket with sewing supplies in it. Ya led Jack back to the centre of the room, positioning him so that he stood in direct sunlight.

Jack supposed it was to warm him, but he didn’t think anything could beat back the chilly unease that had come from Duyi’s spectacle.  He couldn’t think of a logical reason that the man would have prostrated himself at Jack’s feet—at least, he couldn’t think of a reason that didn’t freak him out.

“That, uh. Does he do that often?” Jack asked, not sure to whom his question was directed. Ya clucked at him, and began to run her hands through his hair. Deft fingers plucked the flowers and clips from his hair, carting them over to the chaise when they became too heavy for her fingers.

Duyi reached Jack before Ya could come back over, setting his heavy basket onto the floor and giving Jack a good once over. He began to pull numerous strings out of his bag, all brightly coloured and marked at intervals with ink.

Jack’s measurements were done in quick succession, Duyi making as little skin contact as physically possible. Ya returned halfway through the first measurement, taking the opportunity to produce a little brush from inside her robes and take to working the plaits out of Jack’s hair and brushing it.

“You brushed my hair this morning.” Jack groused, lifting his arms as a string was wrapped around his chest. Ya chuckled, running her hands through the now-soft hair. Duyi pulled away from him, knotting the ropes in the appropriate places. Ya asked him some question or another, and he flapped a hand at her; she abandoned Jack to grab his abandoned robes, taking them over to the table.

The door instantly drew Jack’s eyes, and he looked between it and Ya for a brief second—she’d catch him in _seconds._ He took a careful step forward, and both Duyi and Ya went to look at him. Duyi had pulled out scissors, thread, and some long, elegant needles. Jack rose both of his hands in innocence, padding over to the table to stand beside Ya, shivering the entire way.

Ya took pity on him, shrugging off her own robe and tossing it over his shoulders. “Oh my god, _thank you._ ” He breathed, letting the accumulated warmth radiate through him. Not only that, it was nice to be in _more than his underwear._ He snuggled into it, taking a deep breath—he wasn’t sure where Ya had been recently, but her jacket smelt of freshly peeled oranges and honeysuckle, reminding him of late summer nights in his great-uncle’s backyard.

Jack swore in remembrance of his great-uncle. And then again when he remembered he left the stove on. It was likely that his apartment would have gone up in _flames._ What if Ambrose thought he’d died in the fire? What is his _parents_ thought he’d died in the fire? Jack groaned, pressing his palms to his forehead, barely noticing Ya’s concern. There went his inheritance, his fortune, all his projects. His _goggles._ All gone. _He hadn’t even written a will._

“Jack?” Ya gently tugged at his hands, pulling them down. She then pressed a hand to his forehead, brow furrowing. She hustled away from the table and Jack watched as she went to a nearby carafe, pouring dark liquid into a silver cup before bringing it back.

Jack shook his head when it was offered. “Nope. I officially don’t trust anything red around here.” He took a step away from her, clutching the robe around his shoulders. She narrowed her eyes, then gently placed the cup on the table.

Making eye contact with Jack, she tapped her fingers against her forehead, and then scrunched her face in pain. She repeated the action once or twice, but upon realising that Jack didn’t understand, she sighed. Ya crossed her arms over her chest, muttering something toward Duyi—he responded to her easily, beginning to sew at the robes in front of him.

Ya’s face became troubled, and then she nodded. “Jack.” She said his name quietly, but it didn’t fail to garner his attention. Ya carefully lifted the cup, and walked it back over to the silver jug. She made a show of pouring it back into the carafe and placing the cup down before coming back over. Ya pet the cloth on the table and motioned at Jack.

“You better not try anything.” Jack warned, shuffling back over. Ya tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear when he was within arm’s length. She then gripped his hand, gently, and placed it on top of a stack of fabrics. Ya then pulled it along the different stacks, tapping each with Jack’s hand.

Jack cocked an eyebrow, running his hands over a heavily embroidered pile. Ya smiled gently at him as he rubbed the carefully stitched pattern. She folded her hand so that her index, thumb, and middle fingers were pressed against the fabric. She then moved them along the seven or so stacks, and then put her hand back in front of Jack.

“Pick…three? Uh.” He furrowed his brow, folding his thumb and pinkie finger in to show three in response. Ya nodded, patting at the fabric again. Jack nodded, letting out a huff of breath.

Duyi hummed gently. “Jack.” He called; the young genius looked over at Duyi, who was holding up a robe. He pointed at it, and then the fabric.

Jack nearly smacked his forehead. “Clothes, yeah. You want me to pick out the patterns I want to wear. That makes sense.” He began to inspect them, thumbing through the different colours. There were a multitude of them in each stack, all flashing attractively with either heavy embroidery or shining silk.

In the end, Jack picked a set that had a majority of red fabrics, one that was filled with black and whites, and another that were a range of pastels that he thought were unnaturally pretty. In the time it took for Jack to pick, Duyi had successfully hemmed his robes—it was actually mesmerising to watch the man work. His fingers worked quickly over the fabric, almost too fast for Jack to see.

Ya began to gather the coloured cloth that Jack had chosen, and Duyi looked up from inspecting his work to judge them—after a minute or two, he nodded his approval. He gathered the robes that he’d been working on in his arms and rounded the table to place them in front of Jack.

As he moved toward him, Jack did a double take and stumbled backward, right into Ya. She dropped her load on the table instantly, going to catch Jack. Jack had sworn that he’d seen horns, for a second, poking out of Duyi’s hair—and a boar’s tail, swishing along behind him like it belonged there. A closer look proved that nothing was there, but it still left Jack unsure of the situation.

Ya tugged Jack back, gently nudging him behind her so she could get the robes. She hissed something at Duyi, who’s face darkened considerably. He stumbled over his next few words, probably an explanation, but Ya had turned from him before he could finish.

“Jack.” Ya soothed with an uneasy smile, running her hands over his hair. She held up his robes, and he unconsciously shrugged her borrowed one off his shoulders. When she went to take it from him, he handed it over easily—and then ducked away from her, running straight toward the door.

Duyi _shrieked_ in concern, and Ya snapped at him. She called toward Jack, but he was beyond hearing; he yanked at the door, relieved when it opened easily beneath his hand. Without looking, Jack propelled himself forward.

Jack didn’t know what had happened, at first. He knew had ran into something, judging by the ringing in his head and the sharp pain of a split lip—but _what._ Still dazed, he looked upward to find Chase looking down at him. His expression was nothing short of _scandalised,_ and within seconds of seeing Jack’s nearly naked form, he twisted his head away from the mortal.

The warlord stood stock still, waiting for Ya to come and retrieve Jack. She was in utter _panic,_ spouting what sounded like apologies to Chase. He barked an order at her, freezing when Jack slumped forward against him, still woozy. Jack guessed that he must have smacked his face against Chase’s chest piece, judging by the red smear across the front of it.

“Jack.” Ya’s voice was hushed as she went to draw him away. Jack shook his head, pressing his cheek against Chase’s chest. If he went to move, he’d fall over. He was sure of it. Jack was lucky that he hadn’t already. Chase murmured something, and his hand rose slowly, eventually cradling the back of Jack’s head. The thick, armoured fingers twisted gently into the human’s hair.

“Jack.” Chase repeated; Jack could feel a warmth radiating from Chase’s palm, and felt the dizzying, fuzzy pressure in his head slip away. He blinked up at Chase, and then gave him what he assumed was a bloody smile, even though Chase wasn’t looking at him.

Confident that he could now stand, Jack stepped back, right into the waiting arms of Ya. Chase growled something at her, before turning on his heel, staring out at the hallway on the other side. Ya made an affirming noise, tugging Jack back toward the centre of the room with a frantic expression.

Chase stood in the doorway as Jack was re-dressed; and despite the situation, it wasn’t hasty or rushed. Each layer was dutifully pulled over him, and another ten minutes was spent re-plaiting his hair and slipping the accessories back into it. Ya pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s forehead when she was done, muttering something under her breath.

Ya called out to Chase, who turned back toward the two. His face was stoic once again as he looked over Jack, making sure he was adequately dressed.

“Look man, my underwear was not that revealing.” Jack told him with a pout; he reached up to wipe his chin, but noted that it was dry and blood-free. _Magic._ He muttered to himself. Chase held out a hand to him, twitching his fingers. “My nipples were covered. I’m a man, and my nipples were covered. I was basically fully dressed, if you go by my universe’s standards.”

Chase softly hushed him, twitching his fingers once again. Jack took a few steps forward, slipping his fingers into Chase’s and marvelling at the size difference. Chase nodded at him, bringing the mortal’s hand up so Chase could press his forehead to Jack’s wrist.

And then the warlord was muttering something. Something that Jack had recently heard—the same thing that _Duyi_ had been saying, when he’d been on the floor, bowing to Jack. All the blood drained from Jack’s face, and he shook his head.

“I’m starting to get human sacrifice vibes from this.” Jack told Chase, voice shaking. Chase once again hushed him, standing up to his full height. He swept his arm forward, motioning Jack toward the door. The human shuffled past Chase nervously.

“I’m going to die.” Jack muttered to himself, wrapping his arms around himself. Chase had let go of his hand when they’d entered the hallway; Jack didn’t want to risk running away from _Chase._ He was incredibly different from Ya, and while he trusted that Ya could easily break an arm or two, Chase could gut him in _seconds._

Chase replied to him, even though Jack couldn’t understand him. Chase kept his eyes low, staring at the floor in front of him. Jack would have pegged it as shame, but Chase was far too regal for that. So Jack didn’t know _what_ to call it.

Jack cleared his throat. “You…come on, you aren’t going to sacrifice me, right?” He tried to convey his emotion through his voice, at least. Chase tilted his head up, furrowing his brow. Jack let out a frustrated sigh and then a soft huff. He had to learn whatever language that Chase spoke, and _fast._ He needed an explanation before his own mind decided to drown him in its own.

 

After a short lunch in Chase’s attendance, Jack was gathered once again by a _very_ nervous looking Ya. Jack stood by whilst Chase gave her a set of orders that she took without complaint, and several muted nods.

“Jack, Jack, Jack, _Jack,_ ” Ya was repeating his name in a frantic, upset tone. “ _Jack.”_ She twisted her ears in her hands loosely as Jack all but glided into the room, none the worse for wear and tummy happily full.

“I would sympathise, but I don’t care.” Jack told her candidly. He walked over to his desk, looking up at the stained-glass window. Ya was muttering to herself behind him, pacing the floor. He turned his gaze downward, looking at the ink quill, brush and inkstick, then remembered the sheets of paper inside. He opened the drawer. Ya.”

Ya turned her head to him, noting what he was looking at. She was beside him in seconds, turning her head to look at the thin sheets of paper. Ya looked at Jack, then back at the paper. He carefully plucked a piece out, smoothing it so that it was flat on the desk.

Next, he pulled the inkstone over from where it was set on the desk, setting it in front of him. Ya seemed to catch on to what he was doing, because she was across the room and fetching a cup of water with no prompting. Jack went to take it from her, but she nudged him out of the way and began to do the process herself.

Jack was glad that she’d taken over—it was obvious to him that she’d done this many times. He watched in fascination as Ya poured out a tiny bit of water onto the flat, black surface at the top of the stone. It would have taken him a couple tries to pour out just enough so that it didn’t slip down into the little valley at the end.

As Ya began to grind the inkstick into the water, she began to speak to Jack, gentle and patient. Her words sounded both forgiving and repentant.

“You’re really good at that.” Jack told her when her words lulled into silence. Ya nodded to him thoughtlessly. “I…I mean, okay. I kind of care.” Jack said, leaning on the desk to watch her work. “I mean, I know you’re just doing your job, but you _are_ kind of an asshole.”

Ya nodded again, scraping the ink toward the well at the end of it, and then started the process again. Jack sighed, standing straight to look back out the window. “I guess it’s kind of stupid, trying to escape. I don’t even know what’s out there.” He snorted. “Death, probably. Lots of painful, cold, hungry death. It’s safer here—but can you blame me? This entire situation is nerve-wracking.”

Ya flicked her eyes up at him, soft and kind. She stood up, not daring touch him with her ink stained fingertips. She tapped a corner of the paper, and then motioned to the chair. Jack sat down as he was instructed, debating on if he remembered high-school calligraphy well enough to try the quill—in the end he picked the brush, taking a deep breath.

“Let’s see if I can make anything recognisable to you, huh?” Jack muttered, dipping the end of the brush in the thick, black ink. He’d try _Xiaozhuan_ first, and work up to more modern forms of Chinese _hanzi._ And if that failed he’d try what little he knew of oracle bone script. “We’ve got this, Ya. Never fear.  A genius always finds a way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, welcome to the bottom of the page!
> 
> A few notes:  
> -An inkstick is a block of soot held together with animal glue that is ground together with water to make ink. You can see the process [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fweYYmWK2g).  
> -Xiaozhuan is one of the earliest written languages that appeared in China, appearing as a simplified version of dazhuan script--the only writing to predate xiaozhuan and dazhuan was jiaugwen, or "oracle bone script". 
> 
> Didn't think you'd be learning anything about ancient China today, did you? Surprise!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> Moonlight Reflected On The Er-Quan Spring by Lei Qiang  
> Autumn Moon In The Palace of Han by Liu Fang


	6. Shifting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there guys, here's another chapter. Please enjoy!  
> And if you **do** enjoy, please, please, please leave a comment! I'd love to hear from you!  
>  I know I said I would attach references with this update, but I haven't been able to draw them up just yet. Sorry!

 

Ya couldn’t read any of the  _ hanzi  _ presented to her. Her face would brighten, and then crumble as she realised she couldn’t make out what Jack was writing down. Eventually, Jack tossed the brush away, watching as black spots of ink splattered across the desk. Ya yelped and went to clean it right away; she started to speak to Jack, and it sounded an awful lot like a lecture.

“Jack,” Ya muttered, scrubbing at the desk with the wrist of her top. She rattled off something right after his name, but Jack ignored it—it wasn’t like he could understand her  _ anyway.  _ He pushed away from the desk, beginning to strip off the thick robe layered over the others, draping it over the chair.

Ya grabbed the robe and followed behind him, making a soft, comforting noise. She was folding the cloth in her hands as she walked, her tone turning from errant to hopeful. He ignored her, making his way toward the bed. The entire process had given him a headache—Jack pressed the palm of his hand to the centre of his forehead and swore.

“I want to sleep,” Jack told Ya, trying to shuck off his pants next. Ya clicked at him, and then let out a squeak. “Get off of me.” He whined when the woman caught up to him, tugging his pants back up around his hips and tying them there securely.

Jack wiggled in her arms, and she cooed at him. He tried to elbow her in the face, but she caught it, seemingly without issue. “Let me take a nap, you harpy,” Jack whined, kicking his legs as he was hoisted in the air and pulled back to the centre of the room.

The ornaments were once again taken from his hair, this time cradled in Ya’s hands like tiny stars, all glinting in her cupped palm like they were plucked from the sky. She smiled up at him, continuing to speak as she adjusted his pants, retying the knot perfectly. Ya then pet his lower belly and stood.

“I’m tired,” he told her, thrusting his bottom lip out in a pout. He pressed his hands together then slipped them beneath his ear, tilting his head to better mime sleeping. Jack then pointed to the bed. “I want to sleep.”

He wasn’t really  _ tired  _ as much as he simply wanted to get away from the situation—it was all so much to take in. It would be easier to lay in the too comfy bed and pull the covers up and around his ears until he could convince himself he was still at home. But Ya didn’t seem ready to let him go.

Ya frowned, actually, pressing the back of her hand to Jack’s forehead. She pinched her fingers together and brought them to her lips. He cocked an eyebrow at the obvious sign for food. 

“Dinner? You want me to eat?” Jack’s mouth screwed into a frown. “I, uh. I’m not really that hungry. We haven’t been at the desk for that long. Lunch wasn’t that long ago.” He would have looked at a watch or clock for confirmation, but it was just as dark outside as it had been after lunch. 

Jack tried to show the sign for sleep again, but she clucked at him, tugging him down to sit on the floor. When he crossed his legs instead of kneeling, she recoiled. She knelt beside him, patting at her legs and then patting at one of Jack’s. In defiance, he flopped backward.

The heavy, open sleeves of Jack’s robes folded around him like petals. A soft chuckle left Ya, and she went to grab at him and pull him back up. He rolled away from her, ignoring the hard of the floor in lieu of escaping her searching hands. Ya spouted some nonsense at him, rising from the floor with far more grace than Jack could ever possess. Jack sat back, bracing himself on his hands and pouting again.

Ya mimed food again, and Jack groaned, letting himself ragdoll against the floor. Ya let out a frustrated noise, tapping her foot against the floor. After a minute or so, she called his name sweetly. He turned his head just as her knees popped, watching as she crouched beside him.  

Jack rolled away from her, pressing his cheek to the cold floor and huffing out an irritated breath. The floor was far colder than he’d imagined it to be, but he had been through worse. She called his name again, and he heard the faintest sound of paper crinkling together. His curiosity got the better of him, and he turned his head to get a better look at whatever she had in her hands.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Jack stated, voice dry. He pointed at Ya’s hand. “You’re telling me that you don’t have running water, but you have foil?  _ Candy  _ foil?” He reached out to take the small treat from her hands to better inspect it.

Ya pulled it away and shook her head, pocketing it.

“Look, I don’t want to eat it. I want to look at the paper,” Jack told her, sitting up. Ya stood and shuffled away from him, once more adopting the kneeling position. Jack rolled his eyes, rolling and shifting until his position matched hers. “Happy?”

Pleased, Ya pulled out the shiny paper and handed it to Jack. In fact, she handed  _ three  _ of the tiny wrapped candies to Jack before she got up from the floor. He ran his nails over the packaging, eyes flicking up briefly to watch Ya cross the room to the door, and then exit.

Up close, Jack noticed that the golden paper was see-through. The candy inside were shaped like tiny, five-petaled flowers—Jack  _ thought  _ they could be lotus blossoms, but they could have easily been just about anything else as they came in a rainbow of colours. In his palm alone, he had a red, yellow, and purple one. 

Jack set the yellow and purple candy aside, and began to unwrap the red one. “I wonder where Ya went?” He mused aloud, mildly surprised with how easily they came unrolled. 

There was a brief moment of further inspection, and deciding that the candy couldn’t be  _ that  _ harmful, he popped it in his mouth.

And then spat it back out it into his hand, making an over exaggerated retching noise.

“Barley candy? That’s just gross,” he muttered, looking around his room for a trash can. “If I wanted to eat pure sugar, then I would eat pure sugar—couldn’t I have gotten cinnamon or something?” 

Jack got to his feet, using his unsullied hand to grab the other wrapped treats. He walked over to the place them on the desktop—Ya’s voice came over from the doorway, sounding equal parts disappointed and amused that the candy hadn’t kept him occupied.

Jack held out his hand toward her. “This is nasty. Take it back.”

Behind Ya came a set of women that made Jack realise  _ just  _ how ornamental his clothing was. He looked at his sleeves, and the colourful, dyed cloth and then back at the drab clothing of the women. The women were carrying a covered tray as well as a tea set.

Ya came over and plucked the candy from Jack’s hands, brows drawing tight as she saw the other pieces on the desk. Jack stuck his tongue out at her, and then shook his head.

Jack was given a light dinner that he only took bits and pieces of (much to Ya’s displeasure), and then was allowed to go to bed. He was stripped down, redressed, and once again found a hand pressing to his forehead. Ya was muttering something to the other women, gesturing at Jack.

“I know, I’m such a disgrace,” Jack told her, stretching upward. All sound behind him stopped, and he looked back to see three sets of eyes watching him with a certain amount of reverence that made him uncomfortable. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s weird.”

He lowered his arms, and something odd caught his eye. Lifting his hand up, he noticed that the black dot that had been on his hand had…  _ morphed.  _ It had grown to the size of a dime without his realisation, and lightened to an ashy grey.

Jack’s blood ran cold and he bit down on his lips to keep from screaming. Ya must have sensed something was wrong, because she called his name. He turned his head toward her and offered her a weak smile, clutching his marked hand with his unmarked one. 

“I, uh. Goodnight,” he told her, shuffling toward the bed. Ya stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Leave me alone, Ya.” Jack tried to sound as venomous as possible, and could see the two women behind Ya flinch backward.

Ya, however, would not be discouraged.

She grabbed Jack’s hand and tugged it away from him—only to drop it when she saw what was on it. Before Jack could speak, she dropped to her knees. The women all followed suit, bowing and flattening their palms against the floor—Ya was murmuring something, whilst the women in the back remained oddly silent.

“I don’t know what the fuck this is about, but I want you to  _ stop,” _ Jack ordered, clenching and unclenching his hands. When Ya and the other women didn’t rise, his hands balled into firm fists, and he stomped a foot on the ground. “ _ Stop it. Now.” _

Jack didn’t know if maybe he got dizzy, or if the area was prone to earthquakes—but it felt like the entire building shook under his feet. He scrambled to grab at the bed frame, squeaking in fear. If he thought he was scared however, it didn’t compare to how much Ya was shaking from her place on the floor.

Wasn’t just him then.

“Are, uh. Are you okay?” Jack asked, kneeling beside Ya—after a moment, he switched to simply sitting with folded legs. She didn’t respond, so he poked at her shoulder.

Ya flinched, but didn’t move further than that. He prodded her again, tilting his head to get a better look at her face. She flicked her eyes up just in time to catch his eye, and slowly rose to an upright position.

Jack offered her his hand once more, and she looked away from it. He thrust it in front of her face, trying to get her to look at it, but she obstinately refused, closing her eyes. Her lips moved in a whispered prayer.

 

“What is this?” Jack asked as he inspected the mark on his hand; Ya had sent the other girls scrambling from the room roughly fifteen minutes ago. They scattered like birds, nearly tripping over themselves in the process of grabbing trays and the teapot. Ya herself was now keeping guard, legs folded beneath her and eyes trained on the door. 

Jack hadn’t been stopped this time, when he went for his bed. Unsure hands had tucked him in, and then fingers brushed his cheek. Ya had muttered something soft, and then had left him. Now he was left alone with his thoughts, and activity that was quickly growing tiresome.

He flipped his hand this way and that. “Why are they  _ scared  _ of it?” He groaned in frustration and let his arm flop down on the mattress beside him. Jack rolled over to face the wall, shoving a hand underneath a pillow to better support it. Whatever it was, Jack could only hope nothing bad would come of it. 

 

The next morning was host to a calm breakfast in his room, accompanied by the sound of birds through the window nearest his desk. Ya busied herself with picking up the spotless room, chatting at Jack as if he was going to respond. 

“You know, you’re going to get tired of talking to yourself,” Jack told Ya, picking apart a warm, buttered bread roll. “You’ve got a nice voice though. You should sing sometime. I could listen to that sort of thing—something  _ jazzy. _ ”

“Jack,” Ya said his name teasingly. She walked over to the armoire, tugging it open. Inside were a number of robes that Jack had never seen before—he gawked, unintentionally letting a piece of bread drop from his mouth.

Jack scrambled to his feet, all knees and hands for about ten seconds as he tried to stand. “There is  _ no  _ way,” he whispered—Duyi wasn’t that good. He couldn’t have worked that fast. Ya saw the food on his robe and hurriedly brushed it away, and then pushed Jack’s hair from his face. 

“How did he do this?” Jack asked, looking at Ya, and then grabbing at one of the pastel robes. Ya reached for it as well, slipping it free from a hanger. She shook it at him, and then draped it over her arm. “Wait, no, shit, I wish we spoke the same language. Because this has to be some magic bullshit.”

Ya began to undo his sleeping robes; she was responding to him like one would a child who couldn’t speak just yet. Like someone who was  _ babbling.  _ It was infuriating, but Jack wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.

Jack narrowed his eyes and reached up, poking at the bottom of Ya’s chin. She recoiled, looking down at Jack and pausing in whatever she was saying. He pointed at her.

“I’m going to find out what the fuck is going on here,” he told her sternly, waggling his finger. “Don’t you think for a second I won’t.” 

Colour drained from Ya’s face, and her lips pressed into a terse, timid line. All amusement left her face, and she cleared her throat. She walked back over to the wardrobe and pulling out a plain, white robe to drape over her arm as well.

“That’s not what I wanted,” Jack said, pointing at it. Ya hushed him, shuffling over with both of the robes. She finished undoing his robes, careful and sure in each movement. “My god, this is going to kill me before  _ you  _ kill me.” He looked upward, shaking open-palmed hands at the ceiling. “Is it too much to ask for a way to communicate?”

Ya flinched as his hands came down, and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Like you’re actually scared of this.” Jack gestured to himself. “Come on, let’s go do whatever. I’m just dying in anticipation of what today might bring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there ouo
> 
> Want to stay updated? Click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	7. This Isn't The Young and the Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! It's time for a SoW update!  
> The best kind of update :D Please enjoy! And if you do, I'd love to hear from you in the comments below ouo
> 
> Edit: People wanted references ;u; and I forgot to put them again. I'm not particularly good at drawing myself, so I just added some of the photos that inspired the outfits I have in my mind. They're mostly based off of those thick, heavy robes that Japanese royalty wears. But with more layers.
> 
> I'm working on getting photos ;u; I will attach them here when I have them! Keep in mind, these are just basic references--Jack's robes are tied tighter to his frame!
> 
> [Example One](https://media.gettyimages.com/photos/empress-nagako-of-japan-in-her-coronation-garments-c19241925-born-picture-id463975053)  
> [Example Two: The Female Robe](http://www.iromegane.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/emperor-wedding-800x480.jpeg)  
> [Example Three](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/d6/7e/a0/d67ea048e367a4c1232cd2b2924611b1--japanese-costume-japanese-kimono.jpg)

 

“Another bath? Really?” Jack whined loudly; it wasn’t the same bath as before, but it was equally as open. It was decorated lavishly. Rose gold trimmed the tops of tall cabinets and the edge of the tub. Chaises were littered here and there, all empty with squat, round tables beside them, in the same rose gold as the trim.

Jack whistled in admiration. “I’m moving up in the world, aren’t I?”

There was no answer, not from Ya, nor the four women that Jack had just noticed in the corner of the room. They were all dressed as drab as the women from the evening before, but were twice as silent. Their eyes were kept lowered as they approached Jack, each of them prostrating themselves before him and then rising.

“I don’t like this, and I don’t like any of you.” Jack told them, though he didn’t resist when they went to tug away his robes. These women seemed…tired, somehow. Different. Solemn in their task, neither showing fear nor worship.

After his clothing was removed, Jack was ushered toward the bath; he was almost too curious to be ashamed. The stone at the bottom of the bath was _completely_ smooth in a way that made it almost slippery. The women kept him steady, their grip sturdy and infallible. It was the sternest touch that Jack had felt here beside Ya’s.

Besides the soft bubbling of the tub, the room was quiet. Too quiet for Jack, who was in the process of being manhandled _again._

“Look, I’ll let you clean near anywhere.” Jack told them, backing away from the edge of the tub, and more toward the centre of it. It was too large for them to catch him if he went deeper. “But don’t touch my dick, or my ass. Those are not good areas for strangers to touch.”

The women simply stared at him, their expressions bland and unamused. He waited for a good ten minutes—and yet they continued to stare. They made no move toward him.

“If you’re trying to wait me out, just know that you’ll lose.” Jack told him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Again, nothing. Not even from Ya; in fact, she had slid down the wall, now squatting with her back pressed against it. In her hands was a scrap of paper, but Jack couldn’t really see what was on it from where he was.

Jack stood in the warm water for another ten minutes, before begrudgingly walking over to the side of the tub. One of them pat the side of the tub, and he hauled himself up without much complaint. He did shudder, however, when his bare skin touched it; it wasn’t cold, but his body reacted all the same.

Warm washcloths wiped down his back whilst other hands shielded his face from gentle cupful’s of water that were used to dampen his hair. Soap followed, and the washcloths moved from his back to his underarms and then chest, slowly scrubbing every inch of him clean.

“I just want all of you to know, I don’t bathe this often when left to my own devices.” Jack told them, letting them tilt his head to the side and clean the side of his neck. “I don’t normally smell this good, either. I usually smell like I crawled out of a trash can.”

Nothing, nothing, _nothing._ No sound except for the fucking _water._ Jack turned to look at one of the women better, and then froze; he wondered if his blood would ever stop turning to ice—and then figured it would be better if it didn’t.

One of the women had her mouth open for the briefest of moments. But it was enough for Jack to see _inside_ it, and realise that she was missing her tongue. Looking at the others, the horror of the situation dawned on him; all of them must have been missing their tongues.

“Wait, open your mouth.” Jack told one of them, lurching toward her and grabbing her jaw. Her eyes widened but she didn’t flinch backward, allowing Jack to open her mouth. Jack yanked his hand away as if he were burned. His chest heaved, breath coming to him in short rasps.

Ya was across the room in seconds; the women parted easily for her, but didn’t scatter. Jack scrambled up and clutched at Ya’s arms, not caring how thoroughly soaked her clothes became at his touch. Her hands combed through his hair soothingly.

“ _Jack._ ” Ya said his name gently, carefully turning his head with her fingers to look, guiding it to look back at the women. They all stood with befuddled expressions, looking at each other; Jack contemplated cowering against Ya, but she pushed him forward, forcing him to stand.

“Oh my _god._ ” Jack whispered, standing on shaky legs. The women slowly sank to their knees in front of him, heads turned up and mouths slack and open as if for his inspection. He swallowed, shaking his head. “Oh my _god._ What happened? Is…please tell me this happened before I got here?”

Jack took a step back, but Ya was right behind him. She nudged him forward. “Ya, I don’t want to see this—they don’t even look _healed_ oh my…” He turned away, pressing his face into her shirt. “I want to go.”

A soft hush left Ya’s mouth, and she brought his head to her chest. She muttered something to the women in the room, and Jack heard them all rise in uniform. The lack of chatter had him pressing closer to Ya, refusing to move until he heard the door shut.

An unconscious, frightened sniffle left Jack. “Hey, Ya?” He pulled back from her, blinking up at her. “You are super flat-chested. Like, cutting board flat.”

Ya paid little attention to his words, fully extricating herself from Jack. She was across the room and back with several towels before he could think of anything else to say. Ya began to chatter at him then, with no severity or weight; it was light talk, boring and inconsequential—Jack didn’t need to know her language to know that she was trying to fill the silence.

“That’s not going to happen to me, is it?” Jack asked after a moment. Ya cocked her head to the side, and he opened his mouth and pointed at his own tongue. He then closed it and shook his head. Ya furrowed her brow, taking a towel and wrapping it firmly around Jack.

Her fingers darted to Jack’s hair, braiding small portions quickly within nimble fingers; turning his head a bit, he watched the sleeve of her jacket slide up. It revealed the ruddy colour of her wrist, and then further down her arm. Peering closer, he noticed that there were dark, near-black lines just past where her sleeve normally reached.

Jack flicked his eyes up to meet hers, and then back at the small bit of skin he was able to see. “Tattoos?” He asked aloud. Ya clucked at him gently, nudging his shoulders. He turned for her, letting her get to the back of his head. “Tattoos, mutilation, earthquakes. Weird shit on my hand—Willy Wonka couldn’t have made this experience weirder."

It didn’t take any guessing to know that Jack was going to see Chase; he was back in the dining room that he’d had both breakfast and lunch in previously.

“At least you’re feeding me.” Jack grumbled. Ya was holding his arm sternly within her grasp, daring him to run. She’d changed as well, though her own transformation had taken a little less than five minutes, in a darker part of the room where Jack couldn't see well. 

Jack looked up at her, unimpressed. “How can you dress so quickly and look so good? It’s really not fair.”

Chase’s hand replaced Ya’s, careful and stern.Jack went to tell him off, but the warlord was on his knees before Jack could get a word out. Thick fingers found the sleeve of his robe, slowly sliding it up to reveal his wrist once more—a forehead pressed against his pulse point, and Chase whispered something unintelligible. Not that Jack could understand it normally.

The warlord slowly rose his head to meet Jack’s eyes, and then pressed his lips to Jack’s wrist. Jack watched warily as the kisses trailed down to the meat of his palm. There was the barest hint of fangs against his skin, and Jack jumped—Chase’s forehead was once again to his wrist, his mumbling louder and more coherent.

“Don’t you go biting me. We aren’t nearly close enough for that kind of behaviour.”  Jack warned. Chase peeked up at him, and Jack let out a soft noise. Chase looked, heaven forbid, _cute._ His eyes were wide and cautious, lips quirked into a thoughtful frown.

Jack let out a frustrated sigh, looking away from Chase in hopes that the warlord didn’t seen the blush that had crept its way across his face. “Go on, do whatever weird shit you’re planning. I’m waiting.”

There was an extended period of no movement or sound, except for a restless shift from one foot to the other by Ya. And then Chase began to kiss at Jack’s hand again, rounding the thick of his thumb and kissing along each and every finger, slow and reverent. Jack felt Chase recoil at the rough calluses, and then kiss them once again.

“Oh god, this is like. An oddly unsettling form of romantic.” Jack told Chase, voice barely above a whisper. Jack’s toes curled in the thin slippers Ya had provided. “This is so unreal.” He paused, looking at the bowed head of Chase. “Also kind of gross. That’s my _jack_ off hand.”

Jack laughed at his own joke, and then froze when Chase pressed his nose against the centre of his palm, right where the mysterious mark was. The heat against the mark was mildly uncomfortable, sending a shuddering wave of… _something_ coursing through Jack. It wasn’t arousal, nor fear, nor nausea—it was powerful, yet unidentifiable.

And then Chase’s _lips_ touched the mark, only briefly, and Jack’s entire body shook with the feeling. It was overwhelming, a pressure from the inside of his skin that was trying to burst free—and yet he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He _couldn’t_ move, as the feeling rocketed through him.

He watched as Chase rose back to his full height; there was something in his eyes—not exactly affection, but it was warm and hungry in a way that reminded Jack of the original Chase— _his_ Chase.

And then suddenly Jack could move again; he jerked his head up without thinking. He met Chase’s eyes just in time for the warlord’s lips to meet his—Chase jerked as if _burned,_ but didn’t move. Nor did he hesitate in bringing his hand up to cup the back of Jack’s head, kissing him harder. Ya let out a soft, astonished gasp from her place in the room.

 _Oh no._ Jack’s inner alarm bells were ringing. Judging by Chase’s initial reaction, there was no way he had been intending to kiss Jack on the mouth. Maybe on the forehead, or the bridge of his nose, but not the _mouth._ The kiss itself was rather chaste, even with the added pressure. Gentle.

“Jack.” Chase whispered against his mouth, letting his tongue brush against the seam of Jack’s lips. “Dumpling.” He followed up with something Jack couldn’t understand, leaving little room between their mouths.

“Your breath stinks.” Jack whispered back at him, red eyes meeting gold and searching them. He darted his eyes down to Chase’s lips, but only for a fraction of a second. “So, uh. You going to kiss me again, or are we going to stare into each other’s eyes a bit longer?”

Chase chuckled, pressing his forehead against Jack’s. He mumbled something out, letting his hands drop. And then he was falling to his knees again, pressing his face against Jack’s torso—Jack stumbled backward, but Chase lingered where he knelt, chuckle building into a laugh.

“Okay, well, uh.” Jack shifted toward Ya, looking at the woman in confusion. “Can we eat somewhere else, Ya? I’m not feeling this.”

Chase’s head snapped to Ya, and he suddenly rose, a fire in his eyes that Jack didn’t trust. He addressed her, every word fleeing from his mouth with the vicious intent—he then turned to Jack, and the human froze, instantly looking for an escape route. Chase’s expression softened, and careful, calloused fingers grabbed Jack’s chin. The warlord spoke softly to Jack, cradling his face in his palm.

Chase’s other hand pressed gently to Jack’s chest, right over his heart. He let go of Jack’s chin, moving his now free hand to his own chest to mirror the one on Jack’s. He spoke low and slow, catching Jack’s eyes and keeping them captive. Whatever he was saying must’ve been important to him—but Jack couldn’t tell one way or the other, making him feel awkward above everything else.

“Whatever is going on is very dramatic.” Jack squeaked out, flinching when Chase moved forward to crowd his space once more. The warlord moved backward in time with Jack’s reaction, furrowing his brow.

“Jack? Dumpling?” He asked, voice soft. Chase grabbed Jack’s wrist once again, bringing it to his lips and kissing at it placatingly. “ _Jack._ ” His voice was soft and pleasing to the ear, and Jack swallowed. Maybe he _wasn’t_ that curious about what the day would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Welcome to the end of the chapter-- I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> Coming of Age by The Karma Killers
> 
> Want to stay updated? Click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	8. Puppetry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! How are you doing today? Good I hope!
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, please, please, please leave a comment below! I love hearing from you!
> 
> This is unbeta'd, as per usual!

 

When Jack calmed down enough to be approached, Chase jumped him. The warlord’s hands lifted to cradle Jack’s face, tilting it upward so he could press gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the human’s face, whispering something so quiet and subtle that Jack couldn’t discern the nature of it. The kisses soon turned from his cheeks and nose to his lips—Jack squeaked gently, but neither desired to shove Chase away, nor was in control of enough of his own body to stop him.

Besides, there wasn’t a single bone in his body that wanted the affection to stop. There was something oddly right about every slide of lips and tiptoe of fingers down his chest.

“Chase.” Jack murmured when the warlord finally pulled away. Chase chuckled at him, carefully rearranging his mussed garments. A single thumb pressed against Jack’s lips, smearing what was left of his lipstick down his chin. Curious fingers worked their way through Jack’s hair, parting it and knocking all of the adornments free.

“Jack.” Chase responded, a smile overtaking his face. He pointed at Jack’s chest, and then tapped it. “Jack.” He repeated, smoothing his palm over the area.

Jack shrugged at him, unsure of what the warlord was trying to say. There was something possessive in the way he said it, however. Something commanding that had Jack pressing up against the hand, feeling it’s warmth and shuddering with the introduction of it. Chase pulled away after a moment, pressing a kiss to Jack’s forehead. He then offered his arm to the human.

“Fuck, uh. I guess I’ll go with you. But I don’t kiss and fuck as easy as that.” Jack huffed out, finding himself short of breath. “I’m still offended about you looking up my robes and molesting me the other day.”

Chase hushed him, kissing at his forehead again, no doubt leaving a red, lipstick-stain in his wake.

“You have a room designated to hold treasure?” Jack questioned as they stepped into yet another part of the castle that he wasn’t familiar with.

The room that Jack was brought to was dripping with a glittering, indescribable amount of treasure. Gold coins spilled forth from rucksacks; gems peeked at Jack from behind barely closed lids of wooden and stone chests. Jewellery boxes were teeming with necklaces and rings—earrings even. They all glinted and glimmered, beckoning Jack to gather them into his palms and stash them away.

Luckily, Chase was gathering any number of items for him before he could move, or even begin to ask permission. Gold and silver gemmed bracelets were offered to him, followed up by heavy necklaces and utterly gorgeous, dangling earrings that Jack barely had time to fawn over before they were clipped in his ears.

“Hey, you don’t even know if I’m allergic.” Jack teased as he was led further into the room; it may have been his imagination, but he could see the faintest hint of scales flickering beneath Chase’s skin, shimmering in the torchlight.

Jack watched as Chase gestured at the mess of treasure around the two, and then at Jack. The human looked at the treasure with mild interest. “Are you saying I can take this?” Jack asked, kneeling down and grabbing a few coins. Chase carefully knelt beside him, curling his hand around Jack’s hand and the coins within.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” Jack murmured, letting the coins fall from his hand. Chase watched as they slid out of his palm and back to the bag that Jack had taken them from. “What would I ever spend it on, though?” The human asked, going to kneel and pick through the bag. Surprisingly, there were tiny boxes housing jewellery in the bags as well, each item unique and unfamiliar to Jack.

Chase watched Jack pick through several of the bags, investigating everything that he could. None of the currency looked familiar to him, and Jack could only guess that it was spoils from battles long in the past. Eventually, the spelunking exhausted Jack and he found himself a comfortable seat amongst a few bags, only intending to sit for awhile to rest.

Instead, he woke up in his bed, not even aware that he’d fallen asleep. The thick scent of incense permeated the room, almost to the point of being overpowering. It was floral in nature, but didn’t smell like any flower that Jack had ever smelled before. Jack waved a hand in front of his face, trying to lessen the aroma, wincing away from it.

“Ya?” Jack called, nose scrunching up in distaste. “Ya, can we open a fucking window or something? It smells like a funeral home in here.” He rolled off of his bed, bare feet touching the cool of the floor and bringing him slightly more to himself. A low, dull ache in the back of his head protested the movement all the same, and he pressed a palm to his temple. “Shit, this is why I don’t take naps.”

Ya was over to him at the sound of her name, nudging his hand out of the way so she could check his forehead herself. Her hands were _freezing_ against his skin, and he smacked it away. Ya reprimanded him sharply, pressing her thumbs against his temples. Once again, he smacked at her hands—but Ya refused to move them. Instead she pressed them harder against his skin, slowly massaging at the pained area.

“I get that you’re trying to help,” Jack told Ya. “But I’d prefer an aspirin or something—again, the whole touching thing kind of bothers me.” He plucked at her wrists, once again catching a glance at the tattoos underneath her sleeve. Instead of pulling away, he shucked the sleeve down further, grabbing at her wrist and turning it this way and that.

The woman froze, eyes wandering to watch Jack fiddle with her wrist. “Where’d you get these?” Jack asked, shoving her sleeve down to her elbow. The dark marks covered every inch of her skin, thick-lined and almost archaically religious. Ya snatched her hand away from Jack, tugging her sleeve back down and letting it dangle by her side.

“Do you have any on the other side?” Jack asked, moving to grab at her other arm, headache easily forgotten. Ya moved backward as Jack hauled himself off the bed, every movement laden with intent. “Come on, let me see—you don’t have anything to lose.”

“ _Jack._ ” Ya reprimanded once again, lifting her hands high into the air so he couldn’t get to them. Jack pouted at her; and then his attention was stolen once again.

Jack’s room was now covered in gold—gold goblets, bowls with familiar coins and jewels. The light from the stained-glass window was cascading over any number of necklaces and bracelets that now adorned his vanity. Distracted, Jack found himself cornered by Ya—she went about fixing his hair and makeup, chuckling at the smear that she found down his chin.

Ya tapped at it, a knowing smile folding over her lips. “Young.” She teased, before reaching for a nearby washcloth. Jack nodded, face pinching as she scrubbed away what was left of his lipstick.

“He’s kind of a messy kisser.” Jack admitted. “But he’s a good messy kisser. I like it.”

Ya hummed in agreement. Lipstick was soon reapplied, though this shade was something darker—more mankiller, less innocent wallflower. Jack eyed himself in the mirror as Ya fixed his eyeliner as well, deciding that he was, without a doubt, a _mess._ Even with his hair brushed and braided, even with his face clean—there was something purposefully _pouty_ about his look.

“I just want you to know, and I warned Chase too—I do not kiss and then just jump on a dick.” Jack told Ya, though her attention was elsewhere. Shifting around his robes, making him presentable. “I mean, I’m sure his dick is great and all, but I’m just not feeling it. Don’t want to feel it.”

His stomach growled pleadingly at him, and Ya jerked her head upward at the slight gurgling.

“Dinner time?” Jack suggested nervously. Ya looked at his stomach, and then at his face before smiling. Still-chilled fingers cupped his jaw, turning his head down so that Ya could kiss at the top of it. Jack flailed, briefly, before letting her do as she wished. “Don’t kiss me. Jesus. You’re not my grandmother.”

“Jack.” Ya teased, pinching at his cheek. She grabbed at his shoulder, leading him over to the centre of the room and nudging him toward the floor. Jack let himself be guided, folding his legs underneath him and sneezing as his robes disrupted the previously settled incense. Another kiss was pressed to the top of his head, and then Ya was gone toward the door—he swore she gave some sort of warning before leaving, but Jack paid it little mind.

After a few minutes of waiting, Jack rose from the floor, shuffling over to the window above his desk. He frowned thoughtfully at the coloured glass, tilting his head to the side. He lifted a hand and set it against the cold of the glass, wishing he could better see what was on the other side.

“Where am I?” Jack muttered, pressing his other hand beside his first. “Why can’t I understand them?” He looked upward, back at the sconces that were pressed so tightly to the wall that it was physically impossible that the walls weren’t scorched. “Come on, God. Or, you know, whoever is up there. Give me some kind of sign or something. Like, a dictionary.”

No answer came—not that Jack was expecting one. He let his hands fall, breath leaving him in a huff. “Figures.”

 

It was on his way _back_ to Chase that Jack heard it; Ya had fed him, looked him over once more—and when they had been strolling calmly through the hallway, the vaguest sound of chanting reached Jack. He tilted his head toward it, furrowing his brow and tugging at Ya’s grip on his arm. To his surprise, she let go easily.

Too easily.

“Not more magic bullshit.” Jack whispered as he turned his head back toward Ya. He groaned when realised that Ya was now frozen where she’d been standing, slowly losing colour in time with the world around her. Her expression was almost peaceful—but not in any way that comforted Jack.

“I don’t like this.” Jack announced to the now dead air, taking a step away from Ya. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He turned his head once more toward the chanting, swearing under his breath. “I don’t like this, Ya. I don’t like this place, I don’t like this magic, and I sure as hell don’t like anything that can make time freeze like this.”

A low thrum echoed through the building, and Jack shuddered. “I don’t like you either.” Jack croaked out, taking yet another step back. Again, the chanting called to him, now in time with the building. A low whine left Jack, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do.

Jack tried to ground himself, to ignore the noise around him.

“You die if you follow random noises in horror movies.” Jack hissed out, staring down the hallway that led to the unsettling chanting. “You die, Jack.” Despite what he was saying, he feet were tugging him down the stone floors, drawing him closer without his consent. “God, we’re going to die. This is a terrible idea.”

His feet didn’t listen, still tugging him ever closer to the noise—he tugged against the pull, tears unwittingly beading in the corners of his eyes. Jack shook his head, arms closing around his chest and gripping himself in a tight hug.

Jack wandered past frozen soldiers and servants, all of them dead to the world. The human didn’t even bother to call out to them, keeping his lips pinched closed. He clutched himself tighter if possible, closing his eyes only briefly to take a steadying breath. Jack hadn’t crossed through any doorways yet, but the farther he travelled, the more convinced he became that he was heading toward some sort of exit.

A soft _clink,_ echoed off of a wall near him, and Jack shook his head, refusing to look for all of five minutes before he heard the sound again. Looking down, he noticed the small, white, ball of bone that got him into this mess. Jack sneered at it.

“Fuck you.” He hissed at it, trying to move his feet from its path; unfortunately, his body refused to obey him, and the ball glanced off his foot. It settled where it lay, barely touching Jack’s foot. Jack whined again, not wanting anything to do with the accursed, erroneous item. Jack slowly kneeled down, pointing at the ball. “Fuck you, okay? Fuck you and the ship you rode in on.”

The ball rolled backward, and then back at his foot again, nudging it. Jack let out an uncomfortable grunt. “You want me to pick you up, don’t you?” He whispered. There was nothing in response. “This is not a fever dream I’m prepared for. Not in the least.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Welcome to the end of the chapter!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> La Llorona by Angelica Vale, Marco Antonio Solis
> 
> Want to stay updated? Skaboodle on over [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	9. Not Quite The Rosetta Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, friends! I hope you enjoy--and if you find yourself enjoying this, please leave a comment below!

 

Jack supposed, that sometimes in life, you had choices. They weren’t always good ones, but they were  _ choices.  _ In this case, there wasn’t one at all—his hand was closing around the smooth, white ball of bone before he could stop himself, clutching it tightly in his marked hand. He let out an uncertain whimper, hearing his knees pop as he stood. 

“Alright,” He whispered, expecting the object to burn him like it had before. “So, I picked you up.  What do you have in store for me now? If it’s another time jump, I’d rather we skip the suspense—I don’t know if my heart can take it.”

Naturally, Jack received no answer—he stared at the ball for a moment or two, until he noticed the  _ glowing.  _ It wasn’t coming from the ball, but from beneath is feet. Peering down, Jack realised that a single, luminescent line had begun to weave it’s way into the carpet, leading down the hall in front of him and toward a large, oaken door that Jack hadn’t seen before. 

Jack took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Through another door.” He whispered, not sure why he was keeping his voice down. He opened his mouth to shout, and then stopped himself—there was something unsettling in the air, like an unseen set of eyes, watching him. Jack rolled his lips together, taking a careful step forward. 

“If there’s something here, I don’t want it to know that  _ I’m  _ here.” He reasoned, footsteps quiet as he descended a set of steps. The carpet continued to light up eerily beneath his feet, and he let out an uneasy grunt. “Don’t think about it.” Jack muttered. “You’ve seen weirder. You turned into a monkey a couple times. This is nothing.” 

The door led outside. Brisk air met Jack, pecking at his face; Jack could feel the wind tugging slightly at his clothes, attempting to find a way inside to chill his flesh. Fortunately, they were heavy and thick, saving him from the worst of it. Two large torches flickered beside Jack, casting a pallid grey light on the world around him, licking at the walls that supported them. 

Snow—or what Jack assumed to be snow—dusted the grass surrounding him, and he shivered just looking at it.

Looking down and hoping this outdoor exploration was a mistake, Jack found that same, glowing blue line plotting its way across the stone pathway and around to the unlit left side of the castle. 

“No.” Jack argued. “I don’t know what’s over there.” The line flickered, as if hearing him. “What if I walk off the side of this cliff? Then what the hell are you going to do?” Again, it flickered, and there was the briefest bit of warmth from the ball in Jack’s hand—it was pleasant, at first, and then a sharp, fleeting burst of pain stabbed through his palm and then travelled up his arm. 

Jack cried out but didn’t stumble. “Fine.” He got out through grit teeth. “Around the castle we go. Because  _ fuck  _ Jack, that’s why.” The line flickered playfully beneath him, and he dug his toe at it. “Suck a dick.” 

 

The line led Jack through a particularly shadowy side of the castle; all light had fled the area, save the light that wove its way over stone and between deep cracks. Jack tried his best not to tremble, feeling out every step in the dark that he could. 

Eventually, torches reappeared—but they were stuck on either side of a large, iron gate. Guards, frozen time, stood on either side with long, curved swords attached to their hips. They were wearing thick, metal armour that didn’t look like anything Jack had ever seen—but when he went to take a closer look, his hand and arm once again lit up with pain. 

“Punishing me for curiosity?” Jack snapped to no one in particular. He stood still for a moment, then moved back toward the armour. The pain didn’t reoccur, so he took a second or two to inspect it. 

If Jack knew his metals (and he knew his metals), the guards armour was steel. It was gilded with gold and had any number of unrecognisable symbols seemingly printed into it, all surrounding a large, black, Chinese dragon curling its way up the front. Jack shuddered at the imagery but took a step back from the motionless man.

“As you were.” He instructed playfully and then turned back toward the path. “Was that so hard?” The light flickered insistently. “Well, open the gate then.” 

As if on command, the gates began to creak inward. Jack’s mouth opened slightly in horror, and he shook his head. “Shouldn’t ask weird magic to do things.” He whispered, all of his bravado shaking loose with renewed tremors. “Because it’ll do them.” 

Jack waited until the gate swung completely open before stepping through them; every bone in his body was screaming at him to leave, but he knew he couldn’t, not  _ now.  _ Whatever magic that was leading him wouldn’t let him go, literally. So, Jack continued down the path, glad at least for the soft lanterns that were hung in a staggered pattern down the stone pathway.

“We must be coming to the end of our little adventure.” Jack muttered. 

Colour had begun to bleed back into the world, though it was still dull and lifeless. The line took a sharp left down a set of stairs, and Jack shook his head. The path led into a small alcove, covered with thick leafed trees. Carved stone benches were set against stone fences, carved and almost glimmering from the eerie shade of blue emanating from something set in the middle.

Taking the steps downward, his fingers unclasped from around the ball in his hand, and it went tumbling down toward the ground; there was a sickening crack, but when Jack kneeled to inspect the ball, he noticed two things: one, that the ball itself wasn’t broken at all. And two, that what Jack had assumed to be stone turned out to be now-cracked coloured tile. 

The ball rolled over toward the object glowing in the centre of the alcove, not touching it. 

“I don’t want that. You know I don’t.” Jack whined, though he shuffled closer; the pattern of tile matched the pattern of the stained-glass window in his room. Jack clicked his tongue and shook his head. “A flower?” He asked, furrowing his brow and squatting beside it. 

The flower wasn’t  _ growing. _ It looked to have been plucked and tossed away, with half-bent petals and a quickly browning stem. It had five large, blue petals that all met together at a significantly smaller centre. The entire thing pulsed with light, and Jack almost thought it was  _ breathing.  _

“Jesus.” He whispered, afraid to touch it as he reached out. He drew a single finger down the outside of a petal, eyes widening when the thing shuddered, light going dim. He didn’t pull his finger back, but slid it forward, grabbing the flower beneath the head and lifting it up.

The flower’s weight  _ changed.  _ Jack yelped as each petal solidified into gemstones, all thick and blue and divided by painfully bright flashes of silver and gold. The centre of the flower all but disappeared, and the stem slithered and straightened, roping into a long, leather cord from which to wear it. 

Jack barely noticed as chaos ensued around him; the deafening silence quickly became shouting and panicked footsteps—but Jack was too busy lifting the necklace over his head, shuddering when the heavy weight of the now-pendant thudded against his chest. And then began to sink  _ inward.  _ Through his clothing, through his  _ chest.  _ Jack panicked, fingers grabbing at a non-existent cord. 

“ _ No. No. No _ .” Jack puffed out, scratching at his chest as it disappeared. He tugged at his robes and dudou, pulling them out of the way and snapping the dudou’s strings in the process to see that it had completely vanished—and its place was a mark that matched the pendant perfectly, pressed permanently into his skin like a tattoo. 

He scratched at the skin, wincing and then sobbing when the colour didn’t come off. Jack’s legs gave out beneath him and he pressed his palms to his eyes, unable to stop crying from terror alone. There was no weight or pain in his chest, save for that of his own fear. He tugged the dudou free, tossing it to the ground.

“ _ Here he is. _ ” Jack jerked his head up, turning to look back at the voice. A guard stood on the steps, soon joined by several other servants of the castle. Jack furrowed his brow and then scrabbled backward when the guard attempted to approach him. 

“Are you…are you speaking Chinese?” Jack tried—the guard stopped, holding his hands up. One of the female servants knocked a hand against his shoulder, muttering something low that Jack couldn’t hear. The guard and the rest of the men who had shown up averted their eyes instantly, and Jack clutched at the front of his robe, tugging it closed.

The female servant bustled forward, offering her hands, palm up. “ _ Come with me _ .” She murmured, slowly taking a knee in front of Jack. “ _ Come now. The men have looked away _ .” 

Jack didn’t resist as she carefully pulled him to his feet, tugging his robes into place.  She smoothed her hand over his chest, patting it gently and guiding him up the steps—the servants parted without question, the women taking the chance to ogle Jack best they could. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jack said. “Can you understand me?” 

“ _ Silence now.”  _ The servant quipped. 

 

Jack met Ya first; he was gathered into her arms within second, pulled tight to her chest. 

_ “You’re going to get me killed _ .” Ya muttered, running a hand through Jack’s hair; there was something off about her voice—it was lower, rattling out from somewhere deep in her chest.  _ “Gods above, I thought that Kai-shek had gotten you. His royal highness is having a fit over your disappearance.”  _ She pulled away, looking Jack in the face.  _ “Oh, but you don’t care. Silly little thing.”  _ She tucked a piece of errant hair behind his ear.

Jack grabbed at her hand, tugging it away. Ya jerked backward, furrowing her brow. Jack then proceeded to tug his robe apart to show her his chest; she broke his grip, going to fold it back as to keep him properly dressed.

“ _ Stop. _ ” Ya told him, voice stern. “Jack.” She tried.

“You have to see this,” Jack argued, batting her hands away. “Ya, you have to see this, okay? Because I am freaking out.” 

Jack was once again taken into her arms. “ _ Calm down. Calm down, gods, calm down please.”  _ She soothed, like Jack was a child. Maybe to her, he was. Before Jack could wiggle free, the door to the room they were in burst open, and a very harried looking Chase entered. His eyes landed on Jack struggling in Ya’s arms, and then flicked to Ya’s face. 

She freed him in a matter of seconds, and Jack stumbled backward. He turned to face Chase, and instantly pulled the top of his robes apart—Chase rose a hand to cover his eyes, but not before he saw the mark on Jack’s chest. 

“ _ Where was he? _ ” Chase asked, keeping his head turned away. 

“ _ The garden.”  _ Ya responded, moving forward to cover Jack once more—she inhaled sharply at the sight of the mark, instantly falling to her knees. “ _ Your highness, I understand the need for chasteness, but I insist you look. _ ”

Chase growled. “ _ I saw. Cover him, before I sin further.”  _

Ya rose, going to recover the now-inked skin, and Jack didn’t bother to fight back. His hands fell down to hover around his hips, curling into loose fists.

“What is it?” Jack asked, taking a step toward Chase when he was properly covered. Chase turned his head toward Jack, smiling. 

“ _ The garden?”  _ He asked, easily cupping Jack’s face. “ _ Forgive me for saying so, but you aren’t ready to leave the castle just yet. _ ” He chuckled to himself. “ _ If only you understood, hm?”  _ Chase turned toward Ya.  _ “Was he alone? _ ”

Ya nodded. “ _ Alone, your highness. The guard swept the area, and there is no evidence of intruders. If I may, I assume it was simply his father—after all, the second symbol has revealed itself. _ ” 

At her words, Chase pressed a hand over the mark on Jack’s chest. 

“My dad is a piece of shit. And dead. And  _ not magic. _ ” Jack insisted, stepping back from Chase. “God, this is worse. This is  _ so  _ much worse.” 

“ _ Come back here, my little  _ dumpling. _ ”  _ Chase cooed playfully, closing the distance between them. “ _ General, get him a blanket. He’s shivering. _ ” Ya let out an affirmative and left quickly, marching through the door and leaving the two of them alone.

Jack opened his mouth to complain that  _ no  _ he  _ wasn’t— _ only to realise he was. Chase carefully gripped at Jack’s hands, lifting his wrists once more to his mouth. He kissed at them gently, keeping his eyes lowered the entire time.  

“ _ What did he say to you, I wonder? _ ” Chase murmured against Jack’s skin. “ _ Did he bless our future union? After all, that mark. _ ” He paused, turning his head up. “ _ But so soon. It must be a sign that you are mine.”  _

“Ah, no.” Jack told him, though he didn’t pull his hands away. “Frankly, I’m not the biggest fan of you. I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re hot. But you’re kind of a psychopath where I’m from, and I think that’s transferred over to this hellscape.” 

Chase laughed, kissing at the meat of Jack’s thumb. “ _ So chatty—I wonder what you have to say, hm?”  _ He straightened, leaning forward to peck at Jack’s lips. _ “I have called for scholars from every corner of the continent, to come teach you our language—my language.”  _ One of his hands rose, stroking Jack’s hair lightly.  _ “It must be hard, being unable to communicate. You must have so much to tell us.” _

Jack shrugged. “Primarily to fuck off, but sure. Yeah. Lots of stuff.” He leaned forward, and Chase’s hands went quickly from holding his wrists to resting his shoulders. Jack rose his hands, pressing them to Chase’s face. “Tell me your secrets, you dumb excuse for a lizard.”

“ _ I adore you too, little one. _ ” Chase cooed back, laying a hand over one of Jack’s. “ _ I am honoured to be the object of your affection.” _

Jack snorted, petting Chase’s cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, big guy.” He turned his head, noticing the glint of gold hanging from Chase’s ear. He reached for it, pinching it between his fingers and smoothing his thumb over it. “I haven’t had a crush on you since, what. Sixteen, seventeen?” 

Jack let the earring go, turning to an inquisitive Chase. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty hot. But don’t expect me to fanboy over you like I used to.” 

Chase hooked an arm around his waist and pulled him close. 

_ “You tempt me. Purposefully. _ ” He murmured; he lifted a hand to cup Jack’s face, tilting it upward. “ _ But I will not fail this clever little test of yours.”  _ Chase pressed a kiss to Jack’s cheek, chaste and innocent. 

Ya bustled in a few seconds later, thick blanket in her hands. Chase let Jack go so that she could wrap it around him. 

“ _ Return him to his quarters. _ ” Chase ordered, folding his arms behind his back. 

Ya nodded.  _ “Of course, your highness.”  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi there! 
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> &burn by Billie Eilish, Vince Staples
> 
> Want to stay updated? Click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to stay in the know!


	10. And Then There Were None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! It's me, your friendly neighbourhood Preacher! Not here to save sins though.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story; if you enjoy this chapter, please leave a comment below.

 

Finding himself dragged back to his room, Jack settled into an unsure silence. He pinched his lips together and furrowed his brow, completing the look with a sharp cross of his arms across his chest. Ya noticed his discomfort instantly, but didn’t comment on it as she removed whatever pieces of gold remained in his hair. 

_ “I bet you’re hungry, _ ” Ya told Jack, running a hand through his hair. “ _ Nothing to fret about—his royal highness has sent servants to prepare you a late dinner.”  _ Ya stepped back, carefully placing her hands on Jack’s shoulders. “ _ Where did you run off to for so long? It’s been hours.”  _

“Hours?” Jack questioned; the place between his brows wrinkled further. “I’ve been gone for hours?” He shook his head, extending his arms as Ya began to pull off his robes. “I’d call bullshit, but at this point I’ve lost all faith in logic, at this point.”

Ya chuckled, folding his outer robe over a nearby chair. “ _ Do you talk back at me, because I talk to you?”  _ She worked on his inner robes next, humming slightly. “ _ Did you like the garden? I bet you did—it’s quite beautiful. His highness has a fondness for flowers.” _

“Gay.” Jack chirped in response; he expected to shiver from the cold, but found the room pleasantly warm. 

She continued, as if he never spoke. “ _ If you behave, I might try and convince his highness to let you explore it—supervised, of course.”  _ Ya went over to the armoire, opening the impressive, carved doors. “ _ What to dress you in for bed, hm?”  _ She perked up, looking at him. “ _ I didn’t mean to get you excited; if you are to be let outside, it’ll be a few weeks yet.”  _

“Blah, blah, blah. My name is Ya, and I have surprisingly boring NPC dialogue,” Jack muttered, rolling his eyes. “Are you just talking to fill silence at this point?” 

“ _ Don’t look at me like that. Come over here.”  _ Ya instructed, pointing at the space in front of her. Jack sulked as he marched over, crossing his arms back over his naked chest. Ya tugged at his arms, and he reluctantly let them swing down to his sides. “ _ You’re in an awful mood—forgive me for speaking of it—but…”  _ She reached up, gently pressing her fingers to the mark on Jack’s chest. “… _ is it due to this?”  _

“I mean kind of? Ya, it’s been a shitty day. We can both agree on that, right?” Jack told her, reaching forward to grab one of the soft robes he typically wore to bed; Ya stopped him, taking it from his hands. “I just want to go to bed and try to think of some way out of this pile of shit I’ve stepped in.”

_ “I would love to take that as a yes. But there are so many uncertainties, when dealing with you. _ ”

After more mindless talk, Jack was finally fed and tucked into bed. Ya took up her normal position near the foot, going quiet. At the newfound silence, Jack felt guilty for snapping at Ya—it wasn’t like he was much conversation for her—it had to get boring. 

“Ya?” Jack called out; she was peeking in on him within seconds, looking concerned. He let out a soft sigh, curling up under his blankets and turning toward her. “I’m sorry. You know, for being a dick.” 

Ya tapped the end table with the wine pitcher but he shook his head. He worked his hands out from where he had them tucked under his blankets. He held them out to Ya, watching as she came over. Her face was carved into an expression of suspicion, eyes narrowed, and lips turned down into a thoughtful frown. Jack sat up, grabbing at her face when she kneeled beside his bed. Ya flinched but didn’t draw away, even when Jack stared into her eyes, trying to seem in control. 

“Thank you.” He told her, not relinquishing his grip until she nodded. “I wish I knew some way to actually thank you, but this is what we’re stuck with.” He paused for a second, and then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the centre of her forehead. 

“ _ Thank you. _ ” Ya said almost breathlessly, eyes dancing and then watering. She slowly lowered her head, unable to look Jack in the eyes any longer. “ _ I…I am not worthy of such a blessing. Thank you. _ ”

Jack groaned and flopped back on the bed with a sigh. “That’s not what I meant.” He whined as Ya laughed, tucking his hands back under his blanket. 

“ _ So easily exhausted. Go to sleep,  _ Jack. _ ”  _ Ya told him, petting his chest. “ _ I will be here, when you wake.” _

 

There was no way that Jack could sleep. Not as easily as Ya suggested, anyhow. His thoughts were racing, crowding his mind and then dispersing before he could get a grasp on any of them. He had so many questions and so  _ few  _ answers. It left him restless enough that he tossed and turned for  _ hours  _ before falling into an uneasy sleep. 

He awoke to Ya gently chattering at him, making little sense to his half-awake brain. She was pulling back his covers and wiping the crust from his eyes before he could push her hands away. Jack blinked and shook his head, squinting at Ya and trying to make out what she was saying.

Only to realise he  _ couldn’t.  _

Jack’s eyes shot open at the realisation, and he found himself shaking his head in denial. Ya poked at his side, and when he didn’t move, she went to press a hand to his forehead. He swatted at it, grabbing at his covers and tugging them up and over his shoulder. 

“This is obviously all a nightmare.” Jack told her. 

Ya cooed at Jack, carding a hand through his messy hair. Her fingers grabbed at the covers again, pulling them out of Jack’s grip and far enough down the bed that he couldn’t reach them with ease. Jack hissed out something impolite as he was tugged off the bed and to his feet. 

She patted him down, avoiding the mark on his chest for all that it was worth. Jack batted at her hand, but she was insistent on checking  _ every  _ bit of him to make sure he was right. 

“You do  _ not  _ have to fondle my dick.” Jack yelped when her hand checked over the area. Ya pet his side in comfort, moving down further to check his legs and feet. “What’s wrong with you people, anyway? Is there something really that interesting about my junk that makes you need to grab at it?” 

After she looked over each one of his toes, Ya stood once again. She let out an uncertain hum, grabbing one of his hands and poking at the calloused fingers and palm. Ya continued to ramble on, running her thumb across the rough skin.

“Least I know I’m not missing much,” Jack muttered as she tugged him away from the bed and into the centre of the room. His robe was stripped of him just as he noticed a set of eerily identical women silently standing near the door; one had his breakfast tray, whilst the other held a large jar. Jack pointed at them. “What’s with the Grady twins over there?” 

Ya motioned them over; the tray with his breakfast on it was carefully placed at his feet, yet when he went to sit, Ya grabbed at his arm and shook her head. She turned him toward the woman with the jar, pointing at it and rambling off some order or another. 

The jar was set carefully on the ground, made of clay and was decorated with bright, colourful paint and inset jewels. The woman in charge of it removed the lid, setting it aside to reveal a pale, beige cream inside that frankly, Jack wanted nothing to do with.

“Oh, you’re going to put that on me, aren’t you?” Jack asked, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He took a step back, opening his eyes back up to stare at the woman. She didn’t break his gaze, gesturing at the cream and then at Jack with her fingers. 

He shook his head. “No. I don’t trust you,” He pointed at the jar. “Or that.” 

Ya’s hands landed on his shoulders, squeezing gently; when he tried to pull away, she tightened her grip, keeping him still. Jack turned to her, frowning—and then he had an  _ idea.  _  These people obviously thought he was something other than what he was, so who was he to not exploit that?

Jack let a low, unhappy whine leave him, and he tried to reach up for Ya’s hand. Ya clucked at him when she saw his expression, ruffling his messy hair. She mumbled something that sounded comforting as she grabbed his in return, squeezing it. 

“Why can’t you do it? At least I know you.” Jack told her, shaking off the hand on his shoulder so he could wrap his arm around Ya’s waist and press his face to her chest. Ya sighed, cradling Jack’s head in her hand. The sigh sounded a lot like Ya was giving in—but chilled, cream laden hands on his back proved him wrong.

Jack jumped, the cold unwelcome. Ya snapped at the woman, and Jack looked over his shoulder to see the woman bowing her head in apology. “Guess I have to let the weird woman rub her hands all over me.” Jack muttered, shuddering as the hands continued their work, starting at his lower back and then working up. 

It reminded him of the massage parlour he’d visit with mother, when he still lived at home. She’d drop him off with his masseuse and run off to fuck god who knew. It was actually fantastic for his sore, beaten body after Chase or the monks had a go at him. 

“ _ Do not—”  _ Jack began as he was roused from his reverie—fingers had moved down to rove over his ass, and he yelped. “—hands, cold hands.” He tried to pull away once again but was held still by Ya as the fingers continued down to his legs. “Cold hands on my ass and legs—could I have eaten first? My food is going to be cold by the time she gets done.” 

“Jack.” Ya chastised after the woman was done with his lower back and legs. She turned him forward and locked an arm across his chest. The woman looked up at Ya, sharing a look with her, before beginning to work on the front of Jack’s legs as well.

“She better not grope me. Or get whatever the hell that is on my cock.” Jack warned as the hands crept higher. Jack kicked a leg out when the hands skated his thighs, but before it could make contact with the woman, she skittered back. 

“ _ Jack. _ ” Ya hissed. She addressed the woman, and Jack found himself shoved down on his knees and pinned in place. Ya took a moment to pin Jack’s arms behind his back before nodding at the woman again, who came back over without complaint. Her hands returned to massaging Jack, and he bared his teeth at her when she looked up at him.

“Fucking  _ try  _ it.” Jack seethed—he went to complain further when a piece of familiar flavoured sweet bread was popped into his open mouth. He was quiet for a moment, and he felt Ya partially relax behind him. All three of the women snorted in unison, and for the first time since they got there, spoke. 

Ya laughed in response, obviously agreeing with whatever they’d said. Another piece of bread, this time dripping with some sort of syrup, was offered to Jack. He considered it, before letting the woman press it into his mouth as well. It was wonderfully sweet, but it didn’t keep him from flinching when his cock was unceremoniously grabbed from between his thighs and coated with the slick cream as well—it was brief, but unwanted 

“ _ Fuck,  _ stop that.” Jack hissed, toes curling. “Don’t you know what consent is? I want you to stop touching me—” He was shut up once again, this time by a cup pressing to his lips. Jack pinched his lips shut, shaking his head. The cup was set aside and was replaced with a spoon full of oatmeal, which Jack took willingly. “—and why are your hands still so cold, anyway? They should have warmed up by now.”

Jack was growing infinitely more tired of the lack of responses to his questions, despite knowing that they couldn’t understand him. He sat through the rest of the massage (and by extension, his breakfast) groaning in relief when Ya released his arms. He slumped forward, rubbing at the sore muscles whilst glaring at the two women in quick succession.

Ya barked something out, startling Jack and causing him to flinch. Both women stood and tidied their things, putting them against the near wall—they returned carrying a large mat between them. Setting it down and rolling it out, Jack noticed the same dragon embroidered on it that was on his dudou’s, except it was entwined with another symbol that Jack didn’t quite realise. 

_ Chase. _

“Ya, is that a knife?” Jack asked carefully as she withdrew aforementioned knife from an inconspicuous sheath on her waist. She turned toward Jack, briefly kneeling with the knife held high above her head, before rising and addressing the women again. 

They knelt without complaint, both moving to tug their hair out of their simple braids and cascade down the sides of their faces. Their faces were now hidden from Jack’s view, and he shook his head.

Jack made an uneasy noise in the back of his throat. “Ya, what are you going to with that? You’re not going to, uh…oh god, don’t kill anybody. I’m squeamish.” He reached forward to touch Ya’s elbow, and she jerked from him. She let out a soft hum, looking at the blade and then at Jack.

She then offered to the knife to him. Jack reached forward and smacked it from her hand—but before it could clatter to the floor, Ya snatched it—and turned to sink it into the neck of the woman closest to her.

A choked gasp left Jack’s lips and he tried to find something to say but instead he just wretched, stumbling back as blood seeped out around the hilt of the knife. It was pulled free as easily as it went in, and Ya didn’t even blink as the woman slumped over, dead before she hit the mat. 

“What the  _ fuck. _ ” Jack managed out, lurching forward to stop Ya from killing the next woman—but his legs had turned to jelly. She was dead before he was even halfway across the room. “Why did you kill them?” Jack demanded, stomping the rest of the way of and nearly crumbling and falling to his knees as he did so.

Ya looked at him sympathetically, wiping the bloodied knife clean on her shirt and re-sheathing it. Her voice was low and smooth when he finally made it to her—and she caught him as he finally let his knees give out. Taking advantage of his dazed state, a bloodied hand brought itself to Jack’s face, wiping the mess across Jack’s cheeks and forehead.

“I’ve got to get out of this place.” Jack muttered quietly. Ya was praying over him, clutching him tight, afraid of letting him go, in case he decided to run. “I’ve got to get  _ out. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Song(s) for this chapter:  
> I'm Sorry by Brenda Lee  
> Turn The Lights Off by Tally Hall
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


	11. Corpse Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hella fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did!
> 
> And if you did, then please leave a comment below!

 

Jack wasn’t sure how long it took for him to realise that Ya wasn’t trying to soothe him, with the gentle, sweeping motions of her fingers across his forehead and cheeks. No, Ya was  _ drawing  _ on his face with the blood, leaving a trail of unknown, vibrantly coloured symbols across his skin. The disgust was immediate, growing to a near intolerable level when blood was smeared across his lips. He tried to shove away from Ya but was only gripped tighter, forced to endure whatever she chose to do. 

Eventually, the fingers stopped. They carefully wrapped around Jack’s throat and his breath hitched—he wasn’t ready to die, goddamnit—but they never squeezed, only occasionally stroked, spreading the leftover blood further. It seemed a way to keep his head upright and still, more than anything else. 

Jack remained still, easily complying to whatever Ya wished of him; he allowed his body to go lax and calm, allowing his mind to become calm and rational once more. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone die, and he doubted it’d be the last. Cruelty was the way of the world and was  _ certainly  _ the way of life in this universe. So, instead of worrying about the deaths, he shoved it from his mind, locking the despair and fear from his mind. 

_ Be at peace, or whatever,  _ Jack told himself. Despite his constant, never-ending hatred for the monks, he’d never forgotten how they’d taught him to meditate, to clear his mind of distraction—and at this point, he really didn’t know what else to do. Sitting cradled by Ya, blood drying on his face—there wasn’t much that  _ could  _ be done. 

“Jack,” Ya murmured softly; again, Jack wasn’t aware of how long had passed, only that the blood on his face had begun to feel rough and tacky against his skin. He tilted his head up to look at her. She pinched his chin playfully. He let her pull him to his feet—she clutched at his wrists, pinning them to his sides. She chattered something uselessly at him, squeezing his wrists and then pulling away. It was obvious that she didn’t want him to try and rub the blood off. Jack complied, mind too obsessed with thinking himself next to disobey her. 

Ya crossed the room to wash her hands clean of the blood, and after a quick pat dry, was making her way over to the armoire on the other side of the room. She picked through the clothing with careful, swift flicks of her fingers. She pulled two out and offered them side-by-side, shaking them playfully. Jack was mildly shocked at her level of nonchalance, considering there were  _ dead bodies in the room.  _ He turned to look at them, stomach turning at the sight of the lifeless women. The blood that had spilled forth from their necks was beginning to stain the mat beneath them, dyeing it a deep crimson.  

“Jack,” Ya called his name like a warning, and he snapped his around to look at her. She wiggled the outfits once more, face slightly less mirthful. Jack eyed the choices: one was pale and coloured like spring had vomited the entire season upon it. Long stretching branches decorated the cloth with pink-petaled blossoms, and Jack almost picked it for it’s absurdity. 

The other set of robes were much more appealing, one of the simpler robes amongst his wardrobe. Simple in the way that it was embroidered with thick, heavy thread that weighed down the sleeves. Dragons chased each other in vibrant blues and golds, nipping at each other’s tails and slipped down the front with wide, toothy grins on their faces. Jack supposed that they were intended to be scary, but he found no fear in looking at them. 

“That one,” Jack muttered, pointing at the one festooned in dragons. Ya nodded, putting the other one back in the closet. She fished out a familiar white robe, and set both of them aside. Ya then returned to pull out two long, thin bolts of fabric, testing them with her fingers. One was a soft white, whilst the other was light blue and shimmered in the light of the room. 

Jack watched with interest, cocking an eyebrow. “No dudou today?” He questioned, lifting his arms as Ya began to pat away the extra lotion that still lingered on his skin. The cloth was just as soft as it looked, and Ya took great care with his breasts, testing their dampness once or twice and then redoing the process of drying them before moving on. 

The process took long enough to become boring, and Jack found himself startling when Ya actually began to dress him. She wove the blue fabric carefully around his chest, covering his nipples completely; the fabric was slightly slick and clung to itself well, making what could be considered a neat binder. 

“Is it because I broke the last one?” Jack asked, putting his hands on his hips. Ya snapped at him, flicking at his wrists. He let them fall back to his sides, rolling his eyes. Underwear came next, and then his robes. Neatly dressed, yet far from presentable, Ya took a moment to herself, going after a clean shirt that had been thrown over a nearby chair. 

After a moment of struggling with her own shirt and attempting to take it off by pinching at the back and tugging, Ya slid her current shirt free to reveal her bare, unbound chest beneath. Small, taut breasts crested her chest and hung above an impressive, toned torso. 

If there was anything relatively normal about the situation, Jack might’ve been embarrassed. But like the rest of this odd reality,  _ normal  _ wasn’t to be expected. Thick lines, identical to the ones on her wrists, licked their way up and down Ya’s torso and dipped below her waistband, covering almost every inch of skin. They were layered over old tattoos, smothering their colours with sinful, cold black. Noticing the round, impractically dark circle in betwixt her breasts, Jack shuddered. 

_ I know this magic,  _ he muttered inwardly, stepping closer to Ya. Before she could stop him, he was bringing his hand up and pressing his fingers against the circle. Ya flinched but didn’t move away—a blue light darted out from Jack’s touch, crawling through the rest of the lines in her body before burning away at her wrists. 

“I know this magic,” He actually voiced, noting how embarrassed Ya was. She had her face turned toward the floor, cheeks heating. He smoothed his thumb over the circle again, watching as the blue light pulsed through her again. Ya’s entire body shivered with it. “It’s transmutation magic, isn’t it? I’ve seen it a couple times, mostly with Wu—I had something similar with the monkey staff—not like this though.” 

He pulled his hand away, not quite brave enough to follow the lines across her chest, but unafraid to touch her arm. “I’ve never seen a full-body adaptation,” He let out a hum. “Well, that’s if yours happens to be full-body. Could end at your hips, I guess—I’m guessing it doubles as some sort of binding curse.” Jack had walked his fingers to his wrist, where it ended abruptly. He whistled, shaking his head. “Who the hell did you piss off? Whoever it was, I don’t want to meet them. Jack doesn’t fuck with this sort of shit. I’d love to study it though.”

Jack eventually had pity of Ya and took a step back, allowing her to quickly shove herself into her shirt. Jack had a hard time feeling remorseful for invading her space, as she often slotted herself into his. Once she was no longer half-naked, she gathered Jack close and kissed at the top of his head, cradling him close. He tried to push away from her, equal parts surprised and uncomfortable with the affection.

“Get off,” Jack grunted, pushing at her. “And let me clean my face.” She ignored him, only releasing him to fix his hair—the golden, dangling earrings that Chase had been wearing the other evening were carefully settled in his ears, and he rolled his eyes. Apparently, Chase thought that material goods would win Jack over. And while he wasn’t completely  _ wrong,  _ Jack wasn’t about to admit it. Not to himself, and not to anyone else. 

When Ya tried to pull him from the room, Jack outright refused. 

“I have blood on my face,” Jack pointed out, gesturing at his face. “I am not going out there looking like an extra in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” Ya petted his hair and tugged at his hand again, pulling him once again toward the door. 

Jack eventually gave in, grumbling as he did. He jumped as soon as he stepped from the room, realising that there were guards waiting for the two of them on the other side of the door. They gave deep bows, armour clinking together and spears pointing stiffly toward the sky as they did so. 

“Oh great, more weird bowing and shit,” Jack muttered, wrapping his arms around himself. “Stop that.” He kicked a foot out at one, and the warrior dipped even lower, head nearly touching the floor. Jack looked at him for a second, before shaking his head. “Whatever.”

As they travelled through the palace, the guards followed behind them diligently. Any staff that saw him took the time to fall to their knees and bow reverently, refusing to look Jack in the face. Jack had stopped, once, as an experiment. No matter how long he stood still, the man in front of him kept his head bowed, hands full with a basket of nut-heavy bread. 

“Can I have one of those?” Jack questioned; he wasn’t hungry, he was just curious if he could get away with a snack. He went to kneel, reaching for one of the bread loaves. Ya stopped him before he could. She knelt in his stead, speaking to the man and holding out her hand. He quickly went to hand her one of the loaves, shaking considerably. 

Ya carefully handed it over to Jack and his eyes widened. It was soft and warm in his hands, and a thin, caramelised layer of fine sugar dusted the length of it. His stomach rumbled appreciatively at the idea of eating it. Jack ripped off a piece of it, unafraid to take a bite. He shuddered at the flavour of it.

It was  _ delicious.  _

“Does everything just taste good here, or is it only the food I get to eat?” Jack questioned, tugging another piece of the soft bread free and offering it to Ya. She smiled at him, taking the piece but not eating it. “Come on, try it.” He told her, pointing at the bread. Her smile faltered, and she carefully popped it in her mouth, lips twisting in distaste and nose scrunching. 

“Not a fan of sweets?” Jack asked, taking another bite for himself as Ya reluctantly swallowed the bread. “More for me, I guess.” He fiddled with the bread in his hand, going to move forward. The guards followed, leaving the poor man to his duties. 

_ Rooms, rooms, rooms,  _ Jack muttered inwardly, shuffling into one he’d never seen before.  _ How many rooms does this god awful place have? Is there an end to them? _

The room in question was open and full to the brim with women.  _ That’s another thing,  _ Jack wondered to himself, tilting his head up toward the vaulted ceiling.  _ There are so many women. The number of men is wildly disproportionate. _

Thick glass panes covered three-fourths of the ceiling, letting in a great deal of natural light. Better yet, the  _ sunset.  _ It was already getting dark outside. How long had Jack slept, the evening before? 

Along with the women were a menagerie of looms and pedal-powered sewing machines, mostly hosted on thick wooden table. Ya carefully took his hand and guided him over to where a woman was working on a thick, long, heavily-detailed tapestry. She then began to speak at great length of the fabric, becoming breathless whilst pointing at specific bits here and there. 

“I can’t understand you,” Jack growled out, gritting his teeth. “Fucking,” He pressed a hand to his chest where the blue tattoo remained. “Why the fuck give me something and take it away? What’s the purpose of it?”

Mid-rant, his attention caught on a figure in the tapestry, woven further up, and the rest of his complaint died in his throat. He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. It was possible the figure  _ wasn’t  _ him, but it looked unsettlingly similar with ghost-white skin and shoulder-length, viciously red hair. It was oddly detailed, expression peaceful and hands folded in front of it in prayer. A halo of golden, shimmering thread surrounded the figure’s head, speaking of its divinity.

Letting his eyes wander down, Jack inhaled sharply—the divine being was stepping on a mound of ashy, bloodied corpses. His stomach protested instantly, and he barely had time to point at it before he was retching, body finally crashing from the stress of the day. The bread in his hand dropped and he was twisted away from the artwork, vomit caught in Ya’s waiting hands. 

The women in the area scrambled forward, five or six of them bringing forth trashcans and offering them. Jack grabbed the first one he saw, falling to his knees. Tears sprung from his eyes with the sharp taste of acid and his nose began to run as he threw up everything he’d eaten that day. Clean hands pulled his hair away from his face, and another set rubbed soothingly at his back.

There was no way that was  _ him.  _ There was no way any of this was happening. 

Looking into the bucket, his vision swam—his vomit, watery and chunky, had mixed with the blood on his chin and now the spit dripping from it was tinged pink. He heaved again, but nothing came forth, straining his throat and causing his belly to twist with a low ache. 

“I  _ hate  _ this,” Jack sobbed, clutching at the trashcan. He dry-heaved again, body shaking. The palace of rational that he’d built earlier that day crashed down, along with whatever spiteful rebellion that had kept him from breaking down. “I just want to go home,  _ please.  _ Please, whatever the fuck brought me here. I just want to go home. I’ll do whatever you want, just let me go  _ home. _ ” 

When there wasn’t an immediate answer, Jack cried harder, trying not to be put off by the souring smell of his own puke. A soft kiss was placed against his temple, and he shrugged Ya off, half-tempted to toss the bucket in her face. 

“Jack,” she soothed, kissing at his cheek. Torches around him were being brought to life as the last of the remaining colour of the sky faded away, melting into darkness quicker than was comfortable. He unwittingly leaned into her, trying to stifle his tears. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him away from the other women. 

“I really can’t afford to become emotionally reliant on you,” Jack murmured. He was hushed instantly. He felt grateful for it and sighed.  _ I’m not a child, after all.  _ He reasoned with himself, pulling away from Ya and giving her a grim frown.

Ya motioned at a woman nearby, who stripped herself of her shawl and handed it over. It was used to wipe Jack’s mouth clean. Water came next, and Jack swished his mouth free with an understandable amount of disgust before spitting into the trashcan. He then guzzled a fair amount down to soothe his burning throat. 

Straightening, he tried to gather his resolve. 

_ I need to leave,  _ he told himself, a repeat of what he’d told himself that morning.  _ This place is bad for my health. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya there, folks, welcome to the end of the chapter. 
> 
> Song(s) for this chapter:  
> Trouble by Valerie Broussard  
> The Magic by Lola Blanc
> 
> No beta, just me.
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


	12. Daddy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, please consider leaving me a comment below!

 

When Jack was sure that the urge to vomit had passed, he went to stand—wobbling, unsteady legs threatened to cave beneath him as he did so. Before he could take a step and test them, strong arms were gathering him up off the floor. A dampened corner of the shawl from earlier wiped snot and tears from his face, as well as any lasting vomit. 

Ya cooed at him softly, holding him close to her chest so as not to jostle him. Maids scrambled forward to open the door for her, so she didn’t have to sacrifice a hand to do so. Jack tried not to cling to her as they filtered into the hall but found it hard. Ya was the most comforting thing he had in this world, even if she was a murderer. 

Out in the hallway, the servants were scrambling like rats on the verge of drowning. A mere glance from Jack, and they were darting toward open doors, as if unsure of where they needed to be—as if they had lost their place. Jack frowned, hooking his arms up and around Ya’s neck to look over her shoulder and down at the people running from him. 

“So, they think I’m a god, right? Or like, the son of a god? Some weird deity I guess?” He thoughtlessly smoothed his hands down Ya’s collar, letting out an unsettled hum. “I want to say that saves me from being sacrificed, but the way you wield a knife I can’t be sure.” 

_ “Ya, _ ” The way her voice was called had her stopping in her tracks, body freezing and fingers twitching where they were holding Jack. And then she was moving again, holding Jack tighter than ever—Duyi came into view behind them, and then beside them. “Ya,  _ in the name of Ytos, you stop this instant.”  _

Jack startled, and a chill ran up his spine.  _ He could understand him.  _

“ _ You cannot simply grant his every wish—you cannot let him eat whatever he desires whenever he desires.”  _

Ya’s chest vibrated with a growl. “ _ And why is that _ ?” She demanded. Jack settled back in her arms, staring up at her throat and watching it twitch as she swallowed. “ _ I would rather deal with a bit of vomit than any level of divine wrath.”  _ Jack unwound his arms from around her neck; his chest had started to warm, right where the pendant tattoo was imprinted into his skin. He desperately tried to figure out why the magic—because it  _ had  _ to be magic—was working now, but hadn’t worked  _ earlier. _

Duyi stepped in front of Ya, stopping her short. She let out a soft hiss, and Jack was sure he smelled the faintest hint of sulfur as she did so. Duyi’s face was enraged, at first, and then melted into understanding. 

“ _ Ya,  _ Chase  _ ordered you to bend to his fancy, as long as it was within reason,”  _ Duyi offered his palms up, and Jack’s nose scrunched in distaste at how sweaty they were. His glasses had begun to slide down his nose, but if he noticed, he didn’t do anything to rectify the situation. “ _ But he is no more than a child. Children need to be taught right and wrong, and his divinity does not excuse him from that.” _

_ “Do you want to risk him taking this entire building down around us? _ ” Ya argued. Duyi flinched back from the anger in her voice.  _ “Are you willing to risk your eternity on telling him no? His divinity allows him to decide what is right, and what is wrong.” _

“Hey, Ya, can I call you mom?” Jack asked, wiggling his legs. Ya hushed him, adjusting her hands to better support his body. Jack then turned his eyes toward Duyi, reaching a hand out to swat at him—Duyi cowered from him, bowing in apology. 

“ _ I’m sorry, your holiness,”  _ Duyi told him, not looking up. 

Ya snorted. “ _ I don’t think he likes you very much, _ ” Jack wanted to nod, but refrained himself from doing so. If he let on that he could understand them without fully knowing the terms of the magic that allowed him to speak, he could dig himself into a very deep hole, very fast. 

Duyi said nothing more, stepping out of the way to let Ya pass through. Jack swore he heard him mutter something under his breath, but chose to ignore it. 

“I’m not a kid,” Jack told Ya. “And y’know, I don’t like him. You’re right. He’s weird.” He frowned, brows furrowing. “And seems kind of fishy in general. Why don’t you execute him instead of innocent—well, I guess  _ assumed  _ innocent servants.” 

“ _ Chatterbox, _ ” Ya teased. “ _ Does that mean you’re feeling better? For the record, I don’t think it was overeating that made you sick. The mortal realm must be so intensely whelming for you. _ ” 

Jack, again, wanted to nod. Instead he snuggled deeper in her hold, looking up at her with inquisitive eyes. Ya chuckled, shaking her head.  _ “I would let you outside, into the gardens, if I could, _ ” She promised, swinging through another set of open doors. “ _ But his highness has ordered you to remain indoors until Kai-shek and Acheron have been dealt away with. _ ” 

“Who?” Jack questioned; he went to ask another, but was hit with the strong, familiar smell of  _ books.  _ And not just books.  _ Old  _ ones. 

He jerked up in Ya’s arms, and she yelped—she scrambled to get a better hold of him as he began to slip, but failed miserably, sending him sprawling toward the ground. With a quick twist, he had his feet underneath him, thanking his parents for every, single, gymnastics class they’d put him through. He had half a mind to thank the monks too but then banished the thought. 

Jack would sooner stick bamboo shoots under his fingernails. 

“Jack,” Ya croaked as he stood, staring at the room around him. It was no doubt a library. Bookcases lined every wall, only broken up by the occasional window; more bookcases were set to form what served as hallways, heavy tomes set neatly and dust-free upon them. 

“Holy  _ shit, _ ” Jack gasped, darting forward—his robes caught underneath his feet and he sprawled forward clumsily. Ya grabbed at him, managing to get a hand in the cloth of his robe. She tugged sharply, bringing him back and up into her arms. 

“ _ You are a hazard to yourself, _ ” Ya muttered, smoothing a hand over his hair. “ _ Come now, let’s sit you down before you get hurt.” _

Jack rolled his eyes as he was steered toward a nearby sitting area. “Look, Ya, I appreciate the concern but I’m not  _ that  _ bad. You’re just catching me when I’m off my game—I promise, give me a week or two and I won’t be tripping over everything near as often as I am right now.”

“ _ I am so curious, _ ” Ya murmured as Jack sat down in a chair too comfortable for its own good. He wiggled down into it, humming in satisfaction. “ _ If you’re actually speaking, or if you’re babbling like a child, learning how words work.”  _ She shuffled away from Jack, who rolled his eyes again. 

“Stop treating me like a kid,” Jack grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am a  _ genius  _ where I come from. A bright and shining fucking  _ star,  _ and don’t you forget it.” He turned his head toward the window, watching as lights flickered to life in the distance. “Not that it ever helped me.” 

Ya wandered around the room for a bit, leaving Jack to himself. The table in front of him was empty except for a small lamp; it looked to be oil, but the bottom font was empty. Jack leaned forward and smoothed his hand over the glass, finding it cold to the touch. 

“Weird fucking magic,” Jack whispered, bringing his fingers down the slender, smooth curves of it. “I don’t like it Ya, not a bit.” 

Ya’s head jerked at the sound of her name, and she padded over, hands full of books. They were incredibly thin—almost too thin to be considered books at all. He didn’t have to see them or be able to read the titles to know they were meant for children. He wanted to complain at the idea of having to suffer through them but held his tongue—they could give him insight at least. Maybe get him familiar with some of the kanji.  

“ _ Don’t touch that, _ ” Ya scolded, setting her books down and grabbing at his hand. He pulled it away before she could get it in her grasp. “Jack,  _ that’s dangerous. You could start a fire. _ ” 

“Don’t put it on the fucking desk then,” Jack nagged back. Ya looked at him blandly, obviously unimpressed by his backtalk.

“ _ You must still be feeling sour from getting sick,”  _ Ya said after a stretch of silence. She went over to the window, looking at the small doors at the bottom of it, held closed with a latch. She looked over her shoulder at Jack, offering him a smile. “ _ What if I open the window a bit? Let you get some fresh air. I heard from the maids that the crickets are noisy tonight. _ ” 

Jack sat up in his chair, staring at the window. Ya laughed, undoing the latch and pulling the glass doors inward; cold air rushed into the room and played fitfully with the lamp’s flame. Jack shivered against it, but not for long—Ya threw her jacket over his shoulders, and he pulled it tight around him. Just as Ya had said, the sound of crickets drifted up toward the window.

“How?” Jack asked, pulling himself from his chair to stand by the window; snow decorated  _ everything.  _ “Do crickets here survive the winter? That doesn’t make sense.” He turned to Ya, looking at her suspiciously. “Have your crickets evolved to last through winter? They lay eggs in the soil and die, usually.” 

“ _ Now, don’t fall out, _ ” Ya warned, rustling his hair and ignoring what he’d asked. She went to sit in a chair next to his now empty one, eyeing the pile of books she brought with her. “ _ Now,  _ Jack,  _ how am I going to get you to pay enough attention to read with me, hm?”  _ She sounded honestly exasperated, and Jack cocked an eyebrow. 

“I mean, ugh, can I choose?” He asked, coming over to the table and poking the stack. Ya looked up at him, startled. Jack continued to pick through the books, tossing away any that seemed similar to  _ The Ugly Duckling.  _ Ya watched curiously as he picked up some dumb ‘princess-saved-by-the-handsome-prince’ book and offered it to her. 

“ _ Would you like me to read this? _ ” She asked slowly, taking the book in her hands. She lifted it up and tapped at the cover. “ _ Read? Is this what you want?”  _

Jack nodded. “Talking slower doesn’t help me understand. Weird magic does,” He sat back down in his chair, dragging it across the floor to get closer to Ya and smiling when it shrieked underneath him. Ya’s face folded in evident pain at the noise, but she didn’t lecture him. 

“ _ I wonder why you picked this one,”  _ Ya mused, opening it to the first page. A lovely princess was drawn inside, gowns heavy and vibrant with coloured ink. “ _ This is you. _ ” Ya teased, pointing at the picture, then the kanji below.  _ “Princess. _ ” She tapped it again. “ _ Jack. _ ”

“Jack?” Jack questioned, cocking his eyebrow. He pointed to the princess’s breasts with a skeptical look, and Ya stifled a laugh with her hand. 

“ _ No, no. No breasts. I’m sorry, I, no, you don’t have breasts like that. And you won’t grow them, _ ” She drew an imaginary line over the princess’s chest, mimicking it being flat. A puzzled look overcame her face. “ _ Or maybe you will? I’m not sure what to expect with you. _ ” 

Jack let out a grunt, repeating the word, but in his version of Chinese. “Princess,” He repeated, tongue popping with it.

“ _ No, princess, _ ” Ya told him, pointing at her. “ _ Princess.” _

“I don’t know what you want, this is the best I can do,” Jack replied, jabbing at the picture. “Princess. That’s all I got. Try again tomorrow morning.”

Ya sighed, closing her eyes. “ _ This is going to be harder than I thought,” _ She muttered under her breath. Opening her eyes and turning back to the book, her eyes hardened with resolve. “ _ I’ll just read for now, and you listen, okay?”  _

Jack settled back in his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on the book as she went to read, pointing out simple words and to the pictures that matched. None of it would help Jack, not audibly. But starting with the written language was something, at least. 

“So, if I’m the princess,” Jack said when they flipped to the next page, where a handsome prince was displayed. He leaned forward and pressed his index finger to his face. “Chase?” He questioned. 

A smile blossomed on Ya’s face, and she nodded. “Chase,  _ yes, _ ” She replied gleefully. “Chase  _ is the prince. You’re so smart, aren’t you _ ?” 

“Don’t patronise me,” Jack warned, letting his finger drift to what looked to be a samurai. He turned his eyes up to look at her, poking at the image. “Ya?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. He might as well have recited Shakespeare at her, the way her smile flowered further, showing teeth that were a tad too sharp to be human. 

“Jack,  _ that’s so flattering, _ ” Ya told him, leaning closer. “ _ That’s right, I’m your bodyguard. Your personal knight. _ ” She looked down for a moment, taking in a deep breath, before raising her head to look Jack in the eye. “ _ I’ve given up a lot for this position, for his highness—for you. And I will give so much more, to protect you from this world and the evils in it, even if you can never return the favour in this life. _ ” 

Jack stared at her, wondering what exactly he’d done to inspire such loyalty. It almost had him choking up, if he were to be honest with himself. “Uh, thanks? Thank you? I mean…” He fiddled with his hands, unable to look away. “…I promise whenever Chase makes me marry him or whatever, I’ll give you a really nice, cushy position. Cushier than you already—” He stopped himself, narrowing his eyes. “—you murdered like, two people in front of me. I mean, for me. That’s, uh. Mm. Might affect your end score.” 

Ya reached up and pinched his cheek. He batted at her hand, getting a soft chorus of laughter. “ _ Back to the book, then.”  _

They were halfway through some book about a courageous samurai (or was it knight?) when the library door was slammed open and a servant came spinning inside, out of breath. Outside the window, the wind howled and signaled a storm--rain began to pound down with little buildup, drenching the world in cold, fat drops and melting any snow it touched. 

Ya set the book down immediately, chair screeching in a similar fashion to Jack’s as it was forced back. 

“ _ Yaani, what’s going on? _ ” Ya demanded of the woman. Yaani was pale, colour drained from her face in fear. Jack leaned forward in his chair, trying to get a better look at her but failing.

“ _ His royal highness has come home early from his trip to the city,”  _ Yaani wheezed out, hands on her knees. “ _ He comes. He will be here shortly, and expects his divinity to be in an acceptable state for receiving company.”  _

It was Ya’s turn to pale, and she nodded. “ _ Does he bring with him the witch?”  _ Her voice was low and quiet, as if she thought Jack could understand her. Jack let out an interested grunt, sliding out of his chair and picking up the book on the table. He walked over to Ya, book in hand--she turned to look at him, and then sighed. 

Ya carefully took the book from his hand and marked it with a dog-eared page, before handing it back to him and pointing at the table. “ _ We will read again soon,  _ Jack.  _ Put the book on the table. _ ” Jack thrust the book back at her, and she shook her head. “ _ Table,  _ Jack.” She pointed at the table again, but instead he brought it to his chest, hugging it. 

“I’m going to play this for all it’s worth,” Jack told her resolutely. “How long was Chase supposed to be gone?” He asked, gravitating back to his chair. “Is it weird that you guys think I’m a child but he wants to marry me? Anyone think that’s weird, or does my whole divine status make it okay?” He sat back down, getting comfortable. When Ya looked away, he quickly switched  his book with the book about the princess. “Or do you mean mentally like a child and you guys think I’m going to catch up? Or maybe mentally in terms of mortal realm stuff?” 

“ _ What’s he saying? _ ” Yaani asked, face frozen in fear. 

Ya shrugged. “ _ Ytos only knows. Bring me a washcloth and a bowl of warm water. The divine is not feeling well enough for makeup. It’s believable enough, given his recent bout of sickness,”  _ She flicked her fingers toward the door and Yaani was scrambling away. Once she was gone, she turned back to Jack. “Jack.” She stated firmly, and he didn’t bother looking at her. “Jack,  _ your favourite person is coming.  _ Chase.” 

“He is far from my favourite person,” Jack responded, cheeks heating at the memory of him--it flashed immediately to wrangling a kiss out of the meeting. “I just...like him sometimes. I mean, he hasn’t killed me yet, which is great.” 

Ya hummed in agreement, coming over and sweeping his hair from his face. She combed the adornments free and then replaced them, braiding Jack’s hair into a crown. She drew her fingers down the golden earrings dangling from his ears, reverence apparent in her every touch. . 

It didn’t take long for Yaani to return, nor for Ya to clean his face; he sat patiently throughout the entire ordeal. She praised him throughout, promising him a sweet before bed for being so good. 

“Ya,” Chase’s voice rung throughout the room, sharp and unforgiving in it’s tone. Yaani fled from the room with the bowl in her hands, apologising the entire way. The guards followed behind her, shutting the doors after them. Jack looked up at Chase, taking in the sight of a very wet, very  _ angry  _ warlord. His hands were tucked behind his back and a permanent scowl was affixed to his face. 

It was all Jack could do not to laugh.

Ya was on her feet and bowing before Chase could say anything more, greeting him calmly. “ _ Your highness, _ ” She greeted, keeping her head low. “ _ I trust your trip went well?”  _

“No,” Jack answered, getting up and out of his chair, book in his hands. He walked over to Chase, looking up at him with a grin. He offered the book to him, trying to ignore the way that Ya’s face contorted in fear. “He’s soaking wet and pissed, I think his trip went pretty shitty.” 

“ _ What’s this?”  _ Chase questioned, watching as Jack opened it up to the page with the prince and the princess, and then pointed to the prince. 

“Chase,” He pointed out; Chase’s expression melted, anger slipping away from him like water. He then pointed at the princess, and then at himself. “Jack.” There was something fun about acting like he was half-dumb. And he really,  _ really  _ needed to confirm that sacrificial death wasn’t in his future. So, he turned to the page with the wedding on it. 

“Dumpling, _ ”  _ Chase cooed, bringing up a gloved hand and drawing it down Jack’s cheek. “Ya’s  _ been so good to you, hm?”  _ He reached down, grabbing Jack’s hand and bringing it up to his mouth. He kissed at his wrist. “ _ I’ve brought you a treat, chocolates from the city--though that was before I learned of your sickness. _ ” 

“ _ It was temporary, _ ” Ya ensured, still folded over in a bow. “ _ He has been behaving well, since you left. And has asked after you.”  _ She flicked her eyes to Jack and smiled. “ _ I think he missed you.”  _ Jack was about to call her out, but saw the way that Chase’s chest puffed out in pride.

Chase pulled his other hand from behind his back; in it was a brown box, wrapped carefully in paper. Jack was surprised at how dry it was, in comparison with how wet Chase seemed to be. “ _ How about we trade? _ ” He offered the box and pointed at the book--Jack looked at the book, and then at the box, considering it. 

“Can I have both?” Jack asked, closing the book and slipping it into his robe. He then grabbed at the box, frowning when Chase pulled it away. “Hey, I’m a god. Give it. Ytos is the god here, right? I’m Ytos, or his son, or whatever you people think.” 

The moment that the name left his lips, Chase froze. Jack had never seen him  _ afraid  _ before. Jack went to say something more, but he was interrupted when the entire building shook and oil lamps flickered around him. . 

“Oh, well, shit,” Jack muttered, looking up at the ceiling. The chandelier was shaking to and fro, swaying in the aftermath. “Ytos? Papi? Daddy?” Ya clamped her hands over her ears, and Chase’s hand on Jack’s wrist was trembling. Jack went silent, staring up at Chase. The box was slowly raised and offered to Jack, who took it carefully. 

“ _ We have to be careful, _ ” Chas whispered, kissing at Jack’s wrist again. “ _ We have to be careful until we can speak and reason with him. His power is unstable, with this incarnation. _ ” 

Jack tugged at his hand, finding it hard to open the box with one. Chase released it immediately. He took the box over to the table, slowly undoing the wrappings on it. He was painfully aware of both Ya and Chase staring at him as he did so--there was  _ definitely  _ a connection between Ytos, Jack, and earthquakes. He wasn’t sure if Ytos was really a god or some sort of wizard--or even a type of magic. But he had a hunch that whatever it was had brought him here, and set up this entire situation. And it was keeping Jack alive through some weird prophecy that involved a shit ton of murder. 

“These look  _ delicious, _ ” Jack murmured when he freed the box from it’s paper and took off the lid. Inside were a menagerie of chocolates, some white, some dark, and some milk. They looked like they had some sort of filling inside, but no helpful chart to tell which was which. 

“If  _ any  _ of these are coconut, I’m going to have to tell my daddy on you,” Jack teased, picking one up that looked relatively safe. He turned toward Chase, looking at it, and then at him. “Want to share?”

Chase looked at him, puzzled, as he came over with the chocolate. “ _ What are you up to now,  _ dumpling? _ ”  _ He asked, cocking his head to the side. Jack took a deep breath, and then pressed up onto the pads of his feet, tapping the chocolate against Chase’s lips. Chase jumped, but opened his mouth, obeying the quiet order.  _ I am not doing this to get a kiss.  _ Jack affirmed, loping his arms around Chase’s neck.  _ It’s for science. It’s obviously for science, to check if it’s poison. And even if I wanted a kiss, uh… _ His brain went dead as Chase dipped down, offering the other half of the chocolate, looking as if he’d lost half his brain cells himself. 

The chocolate was divine--but the way that Chase’s hand went to cup his neck was something that Jack had no words to describe. His tongue pressed into Jack’s mouth, curious and warm in the way it pressed against his cheeks and teeth, darting along his tongue before fleeing. Jack, on the other hand, was chasing the taste of the chocolate, melting against Chase and whining without realising it. 

“ _ Leave us _ ,” Chase growled at Ya, who seemed far too happy to do so. As soon as Ya was gone, Jack found himself pinned against the table, a mouth pressing to the side of his neck. “ _ You tease me. Why? What do you gain? _ ” He snarled, lips vibrating against Jack’s skin and sending soft shocks through Jack’s limbs and down into his gut; they twisted in a knot there, distracting him from the wet soaking through his robes from Chase. 

“Because it’s fun,” Jack’s voice squeaked as he answered. He placed his hands on Chase’s shoulders and pushed at them--he wouldn’t admit that he wanted to kiss him, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to have sex with him. His hands were grabbed and gathered up, then pinned up above his head. “Wait a second there, big boy. Jack will get fucked in a lot of places, but a table is not one of them. And not by you. Not yet.” 

Chase nipped at his jaw, fangs sharp and easily lethal. “ _ I want you,”  _ He whispered. “ _ I want the power you offer me--but I expected a woman. I expected the temptation to be less for it. But I was sent you instead. _ ” His leg was hiking up against the table, lips insistent now, kissing below Jack’s ear.

Jack was halfway on board with whatever Chase was up to, when suddenly, a voice echoed through the library--it was soft, yet loud, easily heard over the storm outside. The wet warmth on his neck turned cold, and the hand that had gravitated to his hip, that had flexed there with every twitch of his body, no longer did so. Grey filled Jack’s vision, and there was the hollow sound of something falling to the floor. Jack swore inwardly, closing his eyes. 

“Well,  _ this  _ won’t do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there guys!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> The Plague by Caleb Hyles, Jonathan Young
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


	13. A Reveal, Of A Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Long time no see! I'm still here, still writing! I'm just busy and unmotivated ;u; if you enjoy this chapter, please leave a comment below! I'd really appreciate hearing from you <3

 

Jack kept his eyes pinched shut; he could hear the sound of bare feet against stone, padding across the floor at an almost leisurely pace. He tried to ignore it, but it was impossible in the deafening silence that had fallen over the room.

“I understand your fervour.” That _voice._ It was closer now, coming from somewhere on Jack’s right. It was clearer now as well, and it made Jack dizzy just listening to it. “There is something attractive about being doted on, even if it’s by a brute such as this—and he, no doubt, has practice in pleasing men. Something to appreciate.”

They cleared their throat, and despite the inherent roughness that should have accompanied it, the sound was touched with an unnatural softness. “Unfortunately, we have a bit of a schedule to keep—criteria that need to be met. Touchstones, as it were.”

Jack wanted to open his eyes; as soon as the thought entered his mind, he was doing so—only to be _blinded._ Bright, white light filled his vision, not unlike the way the ball of bone had. He let out a pained screech and wiggled against Chase’s pin—he tried to close his eyes but _failed,_ forced to keep them open.

As soon as it began, it ended, dimming to a manageable level. Jack blinked away the sunspots that stained his vision, chest heaving. His heart felt ready to burst out of his chest, beating against his ribs savagely and robbing him of any coherent thought. He turned his head toward the voice, head flopping over, and mouth open wide like a fish out of water.

The being was a man; well, it looked like a man. Shorter than Chase by a foot, though his hair was dark and braided in a similar fashion. Cobalt blue, gold-embroidered robes were expertly draped over his frame and barely kissed the floor, hovering mere centimetres above it.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Jack,” he greeted, eyes glinting a wicked, inhuman silver. “I am Ytos—better known as the god of war, to the people of this land.” Ytos spread his hands and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And what a sight you are, pinned against the table like this. I’m sure Young has many a plan for you, when he finally has the opportunity to bed you.”

“What the fuck,” Jack wheezed, trying to ignore Chase’s glassy, frozen stare. “This is your fault?” He had given up struggling against Chase, glaring at Ytos. “What the fuck are you doing here? What am _I_ doing here? You have until the count of ten to send me home, you fuck.”

Ytos hummed, tucking his hands into his sleeves. He cocked his head to the side, ever-calm. “You called me here, and I came as quickly as I was able—your assumption of you being my son, or close to it, is correct. That is what you represent here. And a father always looks after his chosen children, does he not?” That smile was back, curling the corners of his lips. It looked… _wrong_ on Ytos’ face. Like it didn’t belong.

“Come, I will explain why I’ve brought you here.” Ytos beckoned, offering a hand. Jack looked at Chase, and then at Ytos who didn’t seem to notice that Jack couldn’t easily free himself.

“I mean, I would. But I’m still pinned against the table, and about to get some choice dick. Do you think you could just start time back up again, and save the discussion for later?” Jack was just rambling on at this point, trying to… He didn’t know what he was trying to do. It was his knee-jerk reaction to babble on or be purposefully obstinate.

Ytos let out an amused snort. “No, it cannot. But you are delightful.”

Nausea took over Jack and sent his head spinning hard enough that it took him several minutes to realise he was no longer pinned against the table, but was standing next to Ytos. On top of that, they were no longer in the library at all; chilly bouts of wind and drops of ice cold rain kissed at his lips and cheeks, though it was nothing like the storm that’d been raging outside.

“Are we—” Jack began to ask, taking a shuddered breath. The nausea was overpowering, fighting its way up his throat. “Are we in a part of the garden?” He went to stand, pushing up off his knees. His legs instantly gave and crumbled toward the stone path beneath him.

Ytos was grabbing him before he could, locking steel-like fingers around Jack’s upper arm and hauling him back to his feet. Jack leaned against him, lacking the energy to stand; touching the deity had the need to vomit dissipating, and Jack was eternally grateful.

“We are, and yet we are not,” Ytos replied. “The nausea shouldn’t reoccur, if I’m to spirit you away again. Those of mortal backgrounds typically have trouble with the first trip, but from thereon their forms tend to remain stable.” He pushed Jack gently, urging him to stand on his own. Jack obeyed without question, finding it easy to gather his feet beneath him.

“Mortal backgrounds?” Jack questioned as soon as he could speak, though he was staring at his hands. He didn’t want to look at Ytos, not if he was going to pull his little ‘brighter than the sun’ trick. “What does that mean? What the fuck is going on? You’ve got a shit ton of explaining to do.”

“I do. We’ve quite the conversation to have.” His voice smoothed over Jack’s rattled nerves, easing him against his will. “I can’t have you acting out like this.” Again, he proffered a hand. “Come now.”

 _I’m going to act out whenever the fuck I want, however I want,_ Jack muttered inwardly, brushing past the offered hand and glaring at Ytos. The idea that this man was a _god,_ or at the very least a powerful magic being skated through his mind, but he shoved it away. If the fuck wanted to kill him, he’d be doing him a favour. He paused mid-step— _but I still need answers._

“Can you read my thoughts?” Jack asked, looking back at Ytos and waiting for him to catch up.

“Yes, but I believe you’re due a certain amount of privacy,” Ytos said. “I’ve no reason to go fishing around in your head.” Jack began to walk in time with him, or trying to—Ytos’ steps were even and measured, but they were ungodly slow. “Your first question is no doubt where you are.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s a good place to start.” He grunted and folded his arms across his chest. “And I would really like to know why the crickets aren’t dead. Are they not crickets? Are they mutated? Evolved—they have to have evolved.”

“They are a different species. But they are crickets of a sort,” Ytos answered, obviously amused. “You are in the Rakuyo province, near the Kajiya sea. This land is currently under the control of Young, the young warlord currently enamoured with you.” He cleared his throat and a rush of wind dove between the two of them, poking under Jack’s robes and getting him to shiver. Ytos pointed outward, toward the thick forest in the distance. “To the west is Yama-no-Yama, and to the north is Sokonihigara.”

“What’s to the south?” Jack asked, squinting in an attempt to see past the mountains in the north. He knew that it was probably farther out than that, but he couldn’t help it.

“Marshland. Inhabitable by the people and uncrossable by army.” Ytos paused in front of a set of steps, and then began to descend to a small grove to the side, far too familiar for Jack’s taste. “I apologise for bringing you here on such notice, to Rakuyo.”

Jack took a seat on one of the stone benches, surprised when the cold didn’t seep through his robes. “Like that’s going to make any of this better,” he muttered, curling his fingers around the edge of the seat.

“You were brought here to serve as a vessel, and a challenge,” Ytos told him, taking a seat on a bench nearby. He took a second to neatly rearrange his robes before continuing. “Inside you, formerly unbeknownst to you, has been placed a great power. It will be unlocked and gifted upon the first to follow through with the ritual placed within the prophecy.”

“I don’t get to keep it?” Jack asked, cocking an eyebrow. “What kind of bullshit, short end of the stick crap is that?”

Ytos took a deep breath and folded his hands between his knees. “It is not meant for you to wield—it was never meant for the vessel to wield. Though I promise that you have in no way been given the short end of any stick. In fact, you are quite lucky—you were never made for this role, and yet here you are.”

Jack’s lips pursed, and his brow furrowed in concern. “Excuse me?”

“You were… not my first choice. There was a woman of your colouring, born to a poor family on the outskirts of the territory. She was to arrive in the centre of the three territories—there would have been a grand war to possess her, and the winner would become… what you would know as a shogun.” Ytos shifted, obviously uncomfortable at the mention of the woman. “She died, before she could arrive. It was unfortunate—at least, until I found you, that is.”

Ytos turned fully toward Jack, commanding his attention. “You have an infatuation with the Young of your universe—I thought a fair compromise for bringing you here would be appointing Young as your keeper. You would take the place of the woman who has died, and in exchange receive a life of luxury, spoiled by the man you desire.”

“So, you just thought I’d make a cute little pawn for this god-awful game of yours, and just play along?” Jack asked, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

“Yes.” The answer was sharp, echoing without needing too. “The man who beds you will gain my favour, as well as a supernatural, incomprehensible power. I am in no way asking you to freely give it, nor open your legs for Young—though after your wedding, I cannot control what he does. He desires you to a degree that is unmatched by any other of my followers.”

Jack let out a soft grunt, staring out at the wall opposite him. “What do I get out of it?” he asked.

Ytos froze, obviously confused. “You get to live your life without a care, spoiled beyond reasonable belief. Youth… _forever._ Immortality of a kind that you could never imagine, godhood to a degree. The man of your dreams. The power to shake the earth and control the wind—what more are you looking to gain?”

“I was already living a pretty luxurious life,” Jack pointed out. He resisted the urge to take a deep breath, about to tell the biggest lie he’d ever told. “And honestly, porn’s just as good as being dicked down by some weird, alternate reality Chase. Not to mention I can’t even communicate with him—and that’s where my real desire comes in. I need to be able to understand him.”

“The lack of communication is to protect you, as well as the future of the prophecy,” Ytos told him, looking mildly stunned. “What I offer is already far more generous than what I offered the woman before you. She was happy enough to serve me.”

Another shrug from Jack. “It really isn’t if you consider the fact that I’ve been kidnapped against my will, violated, and traumatised by all the fucking people you let those assholes murder in front of me. I think I deserve some sort of compensation for this shit show, especially if you want me to play along.” He looked over at Ytos, taking the risk of looking directly into his eye. “I’m not saying I’m going to purposefully fuck up your shit, but I’m definitely going to fuck up your shit.”

He watched as Ytos’ expression cycled through a myriad of emotions. Eventually, Ytos sighed. “What sort of communication do you think would be proper compensation?” he asked, obviously irritated. “I warn you, however, that I cannot provide anything incredibly seamless. The magic within the amulet residing in your chest is far too powerful to be stopped and must run its course. It will even out within a few weeks.”

Jack thought for a moment, humming softly. “I want to learn the kanji. Or I want to be provided some way to learn it—don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for some instant fix. I’m willing to work for it. But I need somewhere to start.”

Ytos visibly relaxed—Jack didn’t think a god could be tense. That was, unless they were _hiding_ something. Something in Jack’s gut was telling him that Ytos had some ulterior motive in regard to the entire situation, but he resisted the urge to ask. One step at a time.

“And, I promise to behave. I’ll be a good little lap dog for Chase,” Jack promised. _Lied._ Was there a word for something in the middle? “I won’t spill your secrets, or the secrets about where I’m from, daddy. Don’t you worry.”

The word got a soft laugh from Ytos. “I expect you will,” he mused, looking at Jack almost affectionately. “I must be on my way. Expect your gift within the next few days.” Ytos stood and came over to Jack—Jack tried to rise to meet him but found he couldn’t move.

“If I had a son, I think he’d be much like you,” Ytos told him, grabbing either side of his face and tilting it up. He pressed a kiss to Jack’s forehead, and an overwhelming shock of power vibrated through his body. It was so much like the pressure that had come when Chase had kissed the centre of his palm, kissed that goddamn _mark._

“If you’re my dad,” Jack croaked out, fighting the paralysis to raise a shaky hand. He grabbed at Ytos’ wrist. “Then who’s my mom?”

“You were crafted from the spilled blood and broken bones of fallen warriors,” Ytos replied, combing his free hand through Jack’s hair. “Death is your mother. And she will be your saviour, when the time comes.”

Jack nodded as best he could in Ytos’ grip—and then the god was gone. Just… _gone._ Vanished into the cold wind and sprinkling of rain. Jack looked around him for a moment, watching as colour began to bleed back into the world and the storm began to pick back up. Near the stone bench, right next to his foot, was the ball of bone that had started this mess.

He grunted and bent down, picking it up. It hummed in his hands, vibrating against his palms and sending small shocks through his arms. But it no longer caused him pain; it just felt as if he were holding a vibrator turned to its lowest setting.

Jack gave it a quick once-over, and upon finding nothing new, shook his head.

“What a fucking edgelord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> Gonna Be A Storm by Heather Gillis Band  
> Sky Full of Song by Florence + The Machines
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


	14. Further

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man am I tired! 
> 
> It's been awhile, and I will be the first one to acknowledge that; but it's been rough lately. I'm not going to go into much detail, but there have been doctor visits and yet another delay in my ability to go to school. It's been a lot, still is a lot, and so everything will probably be erratic for a couple months yet! Thank you for being patient with me.
> 
> If you enjoy this fic, please leave a comment below! I love seeing them, and love talking to you all!

 

Jack only spent another moment or so sitting in the now lonely little alcove. He promptly shut down any questions or concerns his brain was spitting out; he wasn’t going to start anything, theorising or otherwise, at the moment. Jack was sure he’d be overwhelmed with thoughts on the situation later, when lying in bed. But for now, he just needed to… _accept_ it.

An amused snort left Jack.

_ Fuck that.  _

Jack grunted as he got to his feet. The ball jumped in his hand, but he clenched it tighter. “You don’t want to stick around?” He asked nonchalantly, making his way up the nearby stairs. His legs felt like  _ lead.  _ “I’m sure we could find a use for you—hey, I could invent pool. Knock you around with a pool cue.”

The ball jerked again, and escaped, pulled by a power much stronger than Jack. He hissed, scraping his nails painfully across the smooth surface. It hit the ground with a sickening crack, breaking a part of the stone pathway before rolling off, down a nearby set of steps. Jack flipped it off as it went.

“Well fuck you too,” He hissed. He grabbed at his robes, yanking them up from where they touched the ground. The walkway was mushy and wet with lingering bits of melting snow. “Fucking possessed ball. You don’t have anything better to do, huh? Than to fuck with me?” 

Jack paused a moment, looking at the area around him with a scowl. Ytos had promised a lot, to him. Jack hadn’t been expecting him to really honour Jack’s request either; and even though he was happy he had, a feeling of unease had begun to blossom in his chest. Its cold tendrils looped themselves around his ribs and pressed into his belly.

“Why does everything feel like a bad idea?” He grumbled; the stone was cold beneath his feet, permeating the thin fabric of his slippers. It encouraged him on—whispered to him that he shouldn’t linger outside longer than needed. He pursed his lips and gave a look to the trees; they were shaking slightly in a wind Jack couldn’t feel. A shudder worked through him, no way related to the chill in the air.

Jack turned from the view and wrapped his arms around himself. He trudged inside, teeth gritted against the cold. He passed servants and guards alike, all frozen in mid-panic. Jack snorted to himself. If they were scared  _ before  _ Jack went missing, they’d be absolutely terrified when time returned to normal and Chase went tearing through the castle looking for him. 

A flash of silver caught his attention, and his head jerked up; a large ornate mirror was on the wall to his right, and he narrowed his eyes at his reflection. There was something… _ off  _ about it. He let out a hum of discontent and stepped closer. It was like his skin was  _ glowing,  _ and not in the normal ‘I’m as pale as a ghost’ sort of way. There was an actual ring of  _ light  _ around it.

Or maybe it was the pimple.

“What the fuck?” He hissed, stepping even closer. A bright, angry pimple stuck out on his chin. “This is what I get for wearing so much fucking makeup all the time—and I bet they don’t stock Neutrogena in that fancy fucking bathroom.” He poked at it a little, wishing he’d asked Ytos for some decent skin care cream while he’d had his attention. 

He looked up at the ceiling, eyes still narrowed. “You know,” He called, folding his arms over his chest. “I didn’t have this problem in  _ my  _ universe. I left acne back in high school.” He waited for a moment, then spoke again. “And the son of a god can’t have pimples, can he? Gods don’t have acne. That’s a human thing.” He got no answer, as expected. 

Jack cleared his throat. “Ytos? Papi? Daddy whom I love and adore?” He called, sing-song. Still nothing. He let out a frustrated sigh and stomped his foot; the ground rumbled lightly but didn’t shake. “Great, first I’m getting molested, and now I’m getting acne. You’re really beginning to push my buttons here. What good is a god who can’t take care of annoying skin conditions?”

Another, shake, but not from him this time. Jack rolled his eyes and continued on his way—that is, until he came upon a partially open door. The lingering smell of baking hung stale in the air, and he poked his head in—just as he thought. It was the kitchen.

It was surprisingly small, considering how large the meals served to Jack often were. High walls stretched up, made of an unfamiliar, sandy coloured brick. Murals were painted along it, beautiful yet plain in design. A flustered cook was bent over the stove, and two maids were holding large platters of food—it looked like it’d been steaming, but the small wisps were caught in time just like everything else. 

“Nice and creepy, just how I like it,” Jack murmured. He grabbed one of the sugar-glazed buns from a platter, humming happily at how warm it was. He pulled the bread in his hands apart and took a bite of the soft insides. It was  _ delicious.  _ He walked toward the back of the kitchen, popping pieces of bread into his mouth and singing off-tune between bites. 

The larder was far larger than the kitchen. There were huge casks, lids tightly sealed in place. Jack wondered what they had inside, before moving on; giant sacks of flour and rice followed close behind, and then raw vegetables, hung with drying herbs and hiding boxes of smoked and canned fish, all neatly organised; there was enough food to feed an  _ army _ . 

Jack yawned as he reached the end of the larder and then took a deep breath. All the walking had tired him out, to be honest—a mischievous smile crossed his face. 

“What would they do if they found me in here?” Jack wondered out loud, going to settle down on a particularly dusty rice bag. A cloud of white rose up around him, layering on top of his clothing and leaving them disgustingly dirty. Exhaustion fell upon him like hounds at a feast, and he collapsed further against it, not even coughing. “I never knew rice could be so comfortable,” He murmured softly, letting his head hit the back of the bag. 

He dozed in and out for a couple minutes, occasionally remembering the bread on his chest and tossing piece after piece into his mouth until only crumbs were left. After ten minutes or so, he flipped onto his belly, almost purring with how content he was. 

Jack must’ve fallen asleep, because he woke to the sound of a door opening behind him. He looked over his shoulder, trying to blink the world back into view. He yawned and stretched, rolling over onto his back and smiling. He got giggles in return.

_ “Did you want a snack? _ ” A soft voice asked, and he stretched lazily. Another giggle—they thought him cute, no doubt. That worked for Jack. He blinked slowly at them and then rolled onto his side. He tasted a lingering sweetness in his mouth and mourned the loss of his sweet roll, even if he’d been the one to eat it.

“I always want snacks,” Jack replied, yawning once again. “Where’s Ya and Chase?” He slowly got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. Bits of gold and jewellery fell onto the floor, and he watched the maid’s eyes follow them greedily. He bent down and picked them up, cradling them in the palm of his hand for a moment. “Something tells me that Chase is a cruel bastard, when he isn’t trying to get into my pants.”

“ _ What’s he saying? _ ” Someone asked from the beyond the doorway, partially muffled.

“ _ Something about his highness, _ ” The other one whispered harshly. “ _ Go get the general. We’re breaking the rules speaking to him as it is.” _

Jack scoffed and shuffled toward them, knowing how much of a mess he was. The maids scattered backward as he shuffled into the kitchen. He wiped at his eyes, wondering how long he’d been sleeping. They came away with crusty bits of sleep, and he wiped them on his robe.

_ Not long enough, _ he supposed. A guard was bullying his way through the kitchen door—Jack let out an uncomfortable hum, head spiking in pain as he tried to look at him. He decided to slip past him and into the hallway, forcing him to do a double-take and then force his too-big body through the doorway. If Jack was going to be playing the part of a god (or the son of one,) he was going to act like it. 

He heard the guard call out, guttural and harsh on Jack’s ears, but he continued forward, peering around corners and nearly tripping on the rugs once or twice. Servants and guards lined the walls, pressing themselves up against them and bowing their heads in a reverence that made Jack’s recently calmed stomach sour. 

That’s how Ya found him; gliding through the halls like a forlorn ghost, unsure of where he was. Her hands were all over him before he could even speak, checking him for wounds and clucking at his ruined robes. Turning his head back, he noticed that the guard that’d been following him was gone. He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t question it as Ya started to talk to him.

“ _ Where were you _ ?” She demanded, hands slipping under his robes and getting him to yelp. She really  _ was  _ checking everywhere. He batted at her hands, but she ignored him. “ _ Don’t you smile at me. I know you find yourself absolutely hilarious, when you pull these stunts of yours.”  _

“I can’t fight the truth, Ya. I was born a comedian.” He pointed at his face. “I was born with the face paint, after all.” 

Ya flicked her eyes up at him, and then sighed in defeat. “ _ You’re too cute to be upset with.”  _ She brushed off his shoulders,nose scrunching in distaste. “ _ I just wish you would tell me where you keep going. The master is furious.”  _

Jack pointed at the ceiling, and Ya’s eyes followed. “Ytos and I had a cute little chat in the garden. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much. Guy didn’t even bring refreshments. Gods, right?”

Ya swallowed visibly, though her head had started to bob in recognition of Ytos’ name. She then levelled her gaze at Jack and smiled.

“ _ With Ytos, of course,”  _ She murmured, slowly taking his hand. She was shaking, almost imperceptibly. “ _ He must have a lot to tell you—this world is a very complex one.”  _ She was leading him down the wall, calloused fingers gentle.  _ “Not to say you don’t understand complexity. Our rules are simply different here. _ ”

“Seems pretty much the same to me,” Jack grunted out. “Where’s Chase at?”

“ _ No need to worry about the master; he’s realised his mistake and intends to spend the night asking for atonement. _ ” There was something in Ya’s voice—fear, maybe. Jack clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

Ya ignored him, taking him down unfamiliar hallways. Jack watched tapestries and paintings slip past him, each one a smear of vibrant colour on smooth stone. He felt his stomach clench further, an undeniable, palpable uneasiness lacing through the air now. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and sent an actual prayer up to Ytos—one mostly concerning his safety.

And just like that, the feeling was gone. The nausea was still there, but the crushing disquiet had fled. Jack let out a sigh of relief as he saw the familiar door to his room. The day had been long, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and bury himself beneath the covers. It was all too much, all at once. Too much to handle, too much to take in and process—he’d be able to think better in the morning. That was, if he was able to get any sleep.

“ _ You’re a mess, _ ” Ya chided when they entered his room. It looked just as he remembered it, everything neat and tucked away.  _ “We’ll get you into the bath, and then into bed. _ ”

“A bath sounds awful,” Jack whined, but he didn’t fight as Ya began to disrobe him. As unpleasant as time stopping happened to be, the conversation with Ytos had put his fears to ease. At least in regard to being sacrificed. “How about I go to sleep now, and you just wash the sheets in the morning?”

“ _ I know it’s rather late for a bath,”  _ Ya conceded as if she’d actually heard Jack. “ _ But the master is already unhappy, and I doubt ruining your sheets will improve his mood much. Your childlike wonder and your love for mischief might be delightful now, but I have served him for many years. He is in no way--”  _ Ya stopped and stepped away to grab a white robe that’d been laying in a nearby chair; Jack was standing in his innermost robe now, blinking at Ya and waiting for her to continue. She let out a soft, fond sigh, and then pinched Jack’s chin. “ _ It’s not worth telling. You’ve still the thoughts of a child. What do you know of men?”  _ She snorted. “ _ Save for the fact you’re marrying one.”  _

“I am insulted,” Jack told her, trying to resist her attempts to pull him toward the bath. And I bet I know more than you, about men.” He brought up a hand and poked her defiantly in the cheek. 

Ya grabbed at his hand, tugging it away. “ _ Stop, _ ” She ordered, though her tone was light. “ _ You will bathe, and then you may sleep if you wish. But you are a mess.” _

“I’m always a mess, why is this time an exception?” He whined, dragging his feet behind him. Ya let out a huff, and then Jack found himself hauled into the air and over her shoulder. He let out a small squeak and flailed for a moment, before settling down. He cursed, a steady stream of unpleasant words that Ya happily ignored. 

“I swear to  _ god,  _ or Ytos, or whoever—if those creepy women with no tongues are in the bath, I will scream. I will bring this whole goddamn building down around us Ya. I’ll do it. Brick by brick.”

“ _ Shh, it’s okay, _ ” Ya hushed. “ _ It’s just a bath. You aren’t going to see Chase tonight. He is planning a pilgrimage to your shrine tomorrow morning, to leave offerings. _ ” Jack was set back on his feet, though his tantrum had ended; instead, his mind latched onto the word  _ shrine.  _ And not just any shrine.  _ His  _ shrine. “ _ He tries his best, but he is but a mortal. Ytos, the great father—he has made temptation far stronger than any man. _ “

Ya’s finger found his chin, pinching it once more.  _ “It will be just you and I for a week.”  _

“Colour me excited,” Jack muttered, lips barely moving. Ya’s hand crept up the side of his face and gently cradled it; her lips met Jack’s forehead in a soft kiss before she pulled away completely.

“ _ Time for that bath.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there! :D Welcome to the end of the chapter!
> 
> Song(s) for this chapter:  
> For Elise by Saint Motel  
> Natural by Imagine Dragons
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


	15. Fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I! Want! Hot! Pockets!
> 
> Hello everyone, it's been awhile since i updated this fic! (Which is funny, cause, it's been done for over a month. If you want to find out how you can see it as soon as it comes out, go take a peek at my blog!) 
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, I'd love it if you'd leave a comment below!

 

Chase’s absence was like a balm; not to Jack, no. But to the overall mood of the castle. The servants, normally silent as the grave, now chattered playfully with each other. The entire building felt full of life—Jack enjoyed it. To an extent. He would have enjoyed it more if the emotion was directed at him as well. As far as Jack could tell, they still treated himself with the same fear they’d expressed when he first arrived.

“Ya,” Jack started. He had his head cushioned on one of her thighs, free of any adornments. They hadn’t left the room today, save to bathe, so he supposed it was safe enough. He honestly didn’t know why Ya insisted on them anyway. It wasn’t like they did much for his appearance. Ya lifted her book slightly to look at him, curious at his questioning tone. “Do you think that they’ll ever get used to me?” 

Ya didn’t understand. Couldn’t. But her attention was better than nothing.

Ya said something in return to him, recognising that he’d asked a question.  She brushed some of his hair from his face and smiled. Her fingers were gentle and traced his eyebrows— her fingers tiptoed down and smoothed over the bridge of his, and then the soft bow of his upper lip. Jack snorted and laughed, feeling her nails tickle his skin.

Jack turned his head away, trying not to smile when Ya ruffled his hair. “You know, being the son of a god is a bummer. Especially when daddy hasn’t dropped off the present he promised.” He played with his fingers, twisting them this way and that. “I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it, by now. Asshole.” He ran a hand through some loose strands of his hair and blew out an unhappy puff of air. “Are you tired of me?”

Ya carefully marked her place with a colourful paper bookmark and set it aside. She pulled a hand through Jack’s hair, what she could reach of it, and began to play with it. Mini-braids soon decorated the ends of Jack’s hair, before being combed back out. Jack closed his eyes, letting her fingers soothe him. She was humming something, a song that Jack didn’t— couldn’t— recognise. 

“We should go for a walk,” Jack muttered. He slowly pulled himself up, shaking Ya’s fingers free. Ya clicked her tongue, but let him sit up without too much of a fuss. He pointed at the door. “Let’s go get some exercise. I’m tired of being cooped up in here.” Ya nodded and Jack hoped it was in agreement. He patiently waited as Ya got up and fished around in the vanity nearby— jewellery was pulled forth, and he found his hair decorated once again. Mostly with gold roses, with creeping, crawling vines made of silver. 

Ya gave Jack’s hair a quick pat and then an even quicker kiss, before nudging him forward. Jack didn’t need any more prompting, skipping forward to yank open the door to the hallway. Ya followed behind him with a laugh. He didn’t go too far, even though he wanted to. It would just end with him being dragged back into his room— and Ya would be inclined to keep him in there until Chase came back. 

When Ya was within range, Jack strolled forward, tucking his arms into his sleeves. His robes dusted the floors, kissing at the wood and leaving a soft whispering in their wake. Ya’s footsteps were almost drowned out by the noise, but only just. 

“We should see what we can steal from the kitchen,” Jack suggested, bouncing down a set of steps. Ya let out a warning hum. Jack paused and looked back at her. She shook her head and Jack stuck out his tongue in defiance; he furrowed his brow as he looked down. For the first time that day, Jack noticed that she was barefoot. He kept his gaze to her feet as she sidled up beside him, and once she was close enough, he pointed at them.

“Ya?” Her name was a question and she followed his gaze. Ya laughed and wiggled her toes as Jack stared. “Is there a reason why you’re not wearing shoes? You do realise it’s winter? Or about to be winter. The floor has to be  _ freezing. _ ” 

Ya laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, distracting him. “Jack,” She teased. She moved her other hand to pinch his chin. He frowned at her. She babbled on about something or another, and then let him go. 

“That answered none of my questions,” Jack grumbled. He continued down the hallway as soon as he could, shuffling like a rogue toddler. Ya followed him once again, letting him turn wherever he wished— it was freeing, in a way. That was, if Jack forgot he was stuck inside the castle. 

He was halfway to the kitchen, when a door in front of him flew open; Jack stumbled back, right into Ya’s arms. She stopped him before he hit the ground. The person who opened the door, however, tripped over themselves in shock. Jack watched in horror as a teapot rocked forward and then back, teetering precariously— and then it tumbled over, right toward the wall opposite. It shattered against the wall, and scalding hot tea splattered everywhere. The servant who’d been holding the tray the pot had been on shrieked as the tea splashed back against her face and hands. 

Jack was out of Ya’s arms in a flash. He reached her just as she crumpled to the ground, legs caving beneath her. A breathless sobbing left her and a high whine rose out of the back of her throat, expressing what Jack could only imagine to be horrifying pain. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jack muttered, trying to wipe off some of the tea with his sleeves. The servant whimpered and batted at Jack’s hands weakly. “Jesus Christ, does anyone in this goddamn place watch where they’re going?” Her skin was already beginning to blister and bubble and Jack swore. He looked back at Ya, who’d frozen at the end of the hallway. “Could you get some ice? Or something? You’re really going to just stand there like an idiot.” He shook his head and turned back— he tilted her face up to assess the damage better. 

“Jack,” Ya called softly after a moment, though she didn’t approach. Jack whipped his head around to glare at her. She winced visibly. 

“If you aren’t going to help, fuck off,” Jack hissed. He turned his attention back to the servant. His body locked up in shock at what he saw. Where his hands touched, the blisters were already beginning to recede. The servant stared up at him, eyes focused on his face in awe. He gave her an awkward smile, unable to process the situation. He was  _ healing.  _ Burns. Fresh burns. He swiped his thumb under her eye, marvelling at its newfound smoothness. 

“Oh no, I am not ready to be some sort of modern day Jesus.” Jack let go of the servants face, just as the last of the blisters disappeared. Covered in cooling tea, she flopped forward, prostrating herself on the floor in front of Jack. “Oh no, no, no, no.” He took a step back. “Ya, what the fuck is this about?” He rose both of his hands and slid them through his hair— he gave it a sharp yank. A carnal satisfaction came from hearing some of the gold roses tear free and go tumbling to the floor with a soft tinkling. 

And then he was off. Jack passed by a stunned Ya, stumbling through a nearby hall— he wasn’t really sure where he was going, but he didn’t really care.  _ Away  _ was the only place he wanted to be. Away from whatever the fuck just happened with the healing and the burns. 

Taking a left, he dashed past a set of guards—none of them made a move to grab him, though one did turn on his heel to run back the way Jack had came— no doubt to tattle on him. He didn’t care. Ya would find him in the end. Maybe by the time she did, he’d have some sort of rational explanation for what had just happened. 

Jack’s hurried steps brought him to an unfamiliar set of stairs. He paused at the top and stared down, stomach turning at the empty darkness that seemed to swallow the end of the staircase. 

Jack shook his head. “Nope, I don’t care how scared I am. I know a trap when I see one.” He slowly moved backward, not willing to take his eyes off the staircase, shaking his head the entire way. A shudder worked through him and his shoulders jumped up to nestle against his ears. His familiar friend, anxiety, roused from the back of his brain to take control. 

_ Why did I run away from Ya _ ? Jack asked himself. The darkness was creeping up the stairs now. He walked backwards around the nearby corner, nodding to himself. Leaving Ya was one of the dumber things he’d done since...well, since ever. 

“It’s okay Jack,” Jack muttered to himself. “It’s alright. You’ve dealt with creepy, cursed, and overall magical shit before. A dark hallway full of unknowing torment is  _ nothing. _ ” He laughed to himself and then winced at how unsettling it sounded. “I have got to stop talking to myself.” 

He paused for a moment, waiting to see if the darkness was following him. To see if it was more than a hallucination. Jack pressed himself against the wall and crept forward. The rational part of his brain was screaming at him to just leave it— just go back and find Ya. She would be mad, but it was better than walking right into danger. 

“Hello?” Jack called softly as he peeked around the corner. The stairway was still there, still as dark and freaky as it’d been when he’d seen it. But the darkness hadn’t crept up the stairs like he’d thought. 

Jack narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust that shit,” He whispered, pulling himself back around the corner. “Just gonna...go back. Yeah, going to go back the way I came.” He wrapped his arms around himself and hurried on. Jack longed to look behind him, but quickly remembered the story of Lot’s wife, Ado. He was salty enough without being turned into a pillar of it.

It felt like forever, before Jack saw another living person. It was a guard, not Ya, but he was still so grateful that he collapsed against the wall. He tried not to sob in relief. The palace was annoyingly large and hard to navigate. He thought that he’d die before he was found. Soon other guards were called, and eventually Ya pushed through them. 

“Jack,  _ why did you run _ ?” She asked. Ya dropped to a knee to be level with Jack, who’d sunk to the floor. He smiled at her. It was evening already. Ya returned the smile, though it was weak.  _ “Did your own magic scare you? Poor thing.”  _

“Do you know you have a creepy ass staircase? Like, I can’t take you to it, but really should think about cleaning that place up. I think you have some demons hanging out down there. Real ones,” He blabbered. Ya helped him up, and after a moment of thought, hauled him up into her arms. 

Jack squirmed to get comfortable. “How long have I been gone? An hour? Seven?” 

Ya paused in her step and looked down at Jack. He stared back up at her, and then offered yet another smile. Though this one was awkward and unsure. “Ya?” 

“ _ I can handle him from here, _ ” Ya told the guards, who’d been shuffling nervously around her. “ _ Return to your duties.”  _ She adjusted her arms and Jack found himself pressed tight to her chest. The guards nodded, marching off to their posts. Ya looked down at Jack as she started to walk. “ _ You’re fond of setting the entire castle on high alert, aren’t you?”  _

“I try my best,” Jack replied cheekily. “I mean, all you do is stand around all day. It doesn’t hurt to give everyone something to do.” He pressed his face to her chest and closed his eyes. “You suddenly get the power to heal third degree burns. Tell me how you react.” 

Ya snorted. “ _ Always the chatterbox,”  _ She teased. She gave his back a small pat, gentle and soothing. “ _ But,  _ Jack,  _ Honghui—I don’t think it’s fitting for a god to run away from himself.”  _

Jack started. That  _ almost  _ sounded like a response to his question. He peeked up at Ya, who’d focused her attention on the path ahead of them. He tugged at her shirt, getting her to pause. She looked down at him, giving him a soft smile when he caught her eye. 

“Can you understand me?” Jack asked, enunciating every word with care. Ya’s face screwed up into a frown, and then twisted to understanding. Her eyes flicked away, to the wall, and then back down to him. 

“ _ I cannot tell, _ ” Ya replied. “ _ If I am hallucinating your question, or if you’ve genuinely asked one. Understanding, in this situation, is hard. I can’t quite tell if I’m just wanting an answer, at this point. But...barely. A little. _ ” Her brow drew tight. “ _ Your words are jumbled, Honghui. A puzzle. Forgive me if I heard you incorrectly. _ ” 

Jack swallowed. “Why are you calling me Honghui?”

“ _ Honghui— it is your name,”  _ Ya replied, looking puzzled. Her face smoothed out after a moment. “ _ You must be so confused. It’s alright, to not know. You do not know many things. _ ” Ya walked forward, cooing at him like a child. “ _ But I will teach you. _ ” 

“My name is Jack,” Jack corrected. “I missed out on the fun Chinese names— mostly cause my mom is American.” He poked at Ya’s chest, who just chuckled. “Hey, are you listening to me? American. Jack. Like the TV show, minus the dragon bit.” 

_“It’s okay,”_ Ya teased. “ _I’m sure you will learn other words soon enough. But you must be patient with me, and yourself. Language is hard to learn._ _I will stick to_ Jack _for now, then, until you understand._ ”

Jack rolled his eyes. Of course she could only understand what Ytos wanted her too. “Oh, fuck you, Ya,” He looked up at the ceiling, hoping that Ytos could feel his rage. “And fuck you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Welcome to the end of the chapter!
> 
> Song for this chapter:  
> Them Dirty Bones by Mike Waters
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


End file.
